


Time Immemorial

by airotsa



Category: Dracula & Related Fandoms, Dracula (TV 2020)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Reincarnation, Shameless Smut, Timeless love, the holy trinity of fanfic content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:27:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 53,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22203340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airotsa/pseuds/airotsa
Summary: His before. His after. Their now. Their forever.What happens when the Fates decide to unite two people but circumstances keep tearing them apart? It decides It's will shall come to pass no matter what has to be sacrificed.
Relationships: Dracula/Agatha Van Helsing
Comments: 166
Kudos: 292





	1. His Before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: I hope you enjoy this fanfic as much as I have enjoyed writing it, after I finished the series yesterday I realized I had fallen unequivocally in love with this pairing. It struck me as odd that Agatha and Zoe had the same looks and personality, so I started to wonder ... What if this is naught but fate? This is what could have happened *cough* were I an screenwriter in the show *cough*
> 
> Do excuse this poor sinner if the first chapter is a little ooc, this is only my second fanfic EVER and it's important to my story. Bye bye!
> 
> Disclaimer: (Everyone here already know it but still LMFAO) Based on Netflix's and BBC'S 2020 Dracula, starring Claes Bang and Dolly Wells.

_TIME IMMEMORIAL._

_HIS BEFORE._

Carmilla’s hand moved with dexterity across the parchment, her ink-stained fingers finishing the plans of the machinery she hoped to later in the year have the blacksmith assemble, so her dear Papa could take to his well-loved hunting parties.

It had taken her much research and bribery towards her brother’s tutors to come up with what she hoped could become a portable, small and functional weapon. The idea had first come to her when her father had complained of how a sword, a crossbow or anything really, wasn’t practical to him anymore in his old age over dinner and she had taken the remark as an urgent matter.

Her father had not once reprimanded the girl for her inquisitive and opinionated nature, well, as long as it remained within the house’s walls. While she understood that her family’s station was to be shielded from public condemnation, which was quite stupid, in her most humble opinion, her sensible nature allowed her to see the necessity of the act.

There wasn’t a day that passed she longed not to have the same rights as her brothers, still, she acknowledged the love her family unconditionally gave her, cherished it every time the count of books within her room increased, especially so whilst her girlfriends complained of the ache the constant use of a needle gave their fingers.

The young Marchioness was applying the final touches to the sketch when a flustered maid barged through her door, a reprimand at the invasion of her privacy was immediately ready in her tongue, only to be interrupted by the high pitched voice urging her to come at once to the parlour, where her parents were awaiting her. The brunette gathered her skirts in one hand and the contents of her messy desk in the other, between the repetitive _'My lady’s',_ making haste through the corridor and down the stairs.

Her breathing was laboured by the time she stood face to face to her parents, smiling while they waited for her to compose herself, finally, she said, “Papa, Mama, I know it must be a most urgent matter but I was just- “

A callused hand was then raised, prompting her to immediately pause. The family patriarch looked at his lovely daughter with sadness and reluctance, as he was finally proven powerless to shield her further from the world beyond, for the King had called his daughter of fifteen to Court to be the bride of his heir, Crown Prince Dracula, a man of wit but more than twice her age.

He was most reluctant to the union, knowing fully well that his child had been taught from an early age to question the world around her, a most unladylike quality that a Queen certainly mustn’t possess. She had been accustomed to a way of life that she wouldn’t be able to explore further on the stone walls of the Royal Castle, alas, his refusal would just earn them all a visit to the gallows.

Carmilla looked back at him with alarm, he handed her something she dare not look at yet, shielding herself, he noticed, from what had bothered him so. A sigh left his cracked lips as an unrelenting pressure clawed at his chest, hoping in his soul, that one day she could find it in herself to forgive him.

Too old and impotent to witness her reaction he scooped her in his arms and kissed her forehead before making way for his study, leaving her with only her mother, who was the only person alive he trusted to get her through this unscathed.

“I love you, I’m so sorry, little flower.” He muttered to no one.

She felt her eyes widen with terror at the scene that unfolded, she had never seen him so frail, this man she thought could move heaven and earth with a flick of his wrist. A single tear streamed down her face and she braced herself to look at the item in her hands.

Deep brown eyes stared back at her from the painting, so obscure she had trouble differentiating between the pupil and the iris, a broad nose and thick lips its companions. She understood perfectly the message. The outside world had come to their door and demanded she leave to warm a strangers bed, provide him with heirs and not question why only she must the person to abandon all she held dear.

Bile rose to her throat as she started to pace, “You can’t let him take me! He must be at least twenty years my senior! There must be another way! Please! Who is he? Who?” She cried, her mother approached her cautiously with pity in her eyes, hands extended as a tether in this storm, tears beginning to leak from icy blue eyes.

“Prince Dracula.” Responded the woman and the girl nearly collapsed to the floor, knowing why they fought not for her freedom; it would be pointless, it would bring misery to everyone she loved to refuse, it would bring the stench of death to her childhood home.

Carmilla’s world had been torn apart by two words, and Lord above how she had loved words, her most faithful companions had now betrayed her. She knew not the time that had passed as she hyperventilated, only that every so often another pair of arms joined those of her Lady Mother. 

When she finally recovered the stolen breath, her three brothers and father had joined them and at the sight of all of them resolution blossomed, “I’ll make you proud, I promise.” She sniffled.

╌

The day to make the voyage came speedily and that morning, in bed she reminisced on the turn her life would take, finding herself increasingly excited, now that a month had passed. As far as suitors went he was not that bad a choice, twenty years her senior were amongst the more moderate numbers she would encounter, she now knew, after having to console her dear friend Maya on her fiancé's forty.

Dracula would make her Queen and a dark part of her rejoiced to be the most powerful woman in the land, it didn’t hurt that also a Queen responded only to her Lord Husband. Prince Dracula was widely known to support the sciences over the Church, a man like that would surely not limit her in her academic pursuits… that much anyways.

Her mother had warned, with impressive cynicism, to make him happy in bed (along with giving her tips that destroyed her appetite), happy men didn’t take mistresses and a mistress was the one woman who could depose of a monarch without a civil war ensuing.

Carmilla had always considered her mother a worldly woman, but her tutelage over the past few weeks had surpassed anything she could have ever imagined, at times the awkward and descriptive instructions had left her blushing for hours on end but on hindsight, she’d rather arrive at Court well prepared, than just another naïve impressionable woman.

Every member of the family had responded to her proposal in different, albeit all as strange ways, so when her maids dressed her, with her mother still imparting indecorous wisdom, she could barely acknowledge her emotions without escalating the situation.

At noon they mounted the carriages, all except her smallest brother, who had been too upset to see her marry, screaming, crying, even cursing every so often, giving them no choice but to leave him behind.

When the rocking of the carriage started and she finally left her family state to possibly never return, she scratched her gloved hand, anxiety and dread prominent in her chest.

It was harder than she thought, leaving everything she had known and loved behind, what hurt most though, was the thought that she might have to leave who she was too behind, at least parts. How could they ask her to divide herself to marry a man she had never seen?

The cook had, in her eternal kindness, given her Valerian extract, should she find herself in the position she now was in and as her eldest brother and father immersed themselves ever so deeper into their game of cards, she took the potion and let the darkness take her.

╌

She woke to a still carriage, alone, the intense chill that came from the window told her that they had at least made it halfway through to their destination. She waited a good fifteen minutes before allowing the thoughts of catastrophe to fill her restless mind and the silence served only to further terrorize her, so with the utmost care, she took off her boots lest their sound against the ground alert anyone of her presence.

She decided to take the short sword she knew was hidden in the drawer underneath the cushions, the wood of the compartment it was in ‘ _tcked’_ when she opened it, the steel was much too heavy and large for her frame but it would have to make do. She then exited the vehicle through the door that faced the woods.

Carmilla was meet with a carnage, biting her lips so hard she drew blood, for even in this misery, she couldn’t afford to scream. The first body was that of Simon, sweet Simon that stole so many pastries from the kitchen they had to be put under lock by the time he learned to climb the cupboards.

He had been gutted with the sword his father had given for his first hunt, the blue eyes of her mother stared back at her, lacking all the mischief that had characterized him so. She closed her eyes and her mind replayed her favourite memories of him. Her tears fell in his bloodied face as she took off her gloves; she would not close his eyes in such an impersonal way, like a physician and not a sibling.

Not far off Simon was Augusto, the eldest of the four, his throat had been slit, but not before he had been stabbed in the stomach. She hoped he had not died in much pain. He had been always the best of them; she had been too sassy, Simon too disruptive, (Tamlin was too young to have any real flaws), but he had been born just right, her mother used to say when the younger two and sometimes three had been particularly challenging.

She closed his eyes too, they had stared back at her, the same shape and colour as her own. He had wanted to apprentice under the Duchy’s elders, he wanted to know how to be just and kind when he inherited, as her father was with the people he had been charged with. He was…had been already just and kind.

She knew before she saw them, that if her brothers were dead then there had been no way her parents were alive, that already hurt too much but seeing them was another matter entirely and all self-preservation went out the window at the sight, she screamed herself raw.

The Valerian had saved her, but at what cost? She’d have rather died with them, in all her selfishness. Tamlin was too little, in time he would soon forget of the family that had left him behind, Master Emer would raise him a proper Duke, he would make sure he would not turn cruel and vicious. He had promised to Papa he’d take care of them if anything happened to him.

Well, it had happened, to all of them and he was the last one left unscathed.

In the distance, she heard hooves, ten pairs of them if she was correct, drawn back to the scene of the crime by her scream surely. She knew what she must do; these bandits had slaughtered her family without thinking twice about it, these turn of events would not take her to Dracula, no matter which path she took.

They would rape her and sell her and if by some miracle she reached the royal palace a defiled woman she would never be allowed to marry him, not mentioning the fact that their leaders had ten men at their disposal just for petty thievery, she had no chance of escape... sometimes choices like this were not cowardice but intelligence.

She took the dagger that rested on her father’s hip, throwing the short sword with rage the furthest possible away from her. Carmilla took out _his_ portrait from her dress’ pockets, looked at his eyes, which she had grown to admire, intense even in painting. 

It felt right to have him be the last thing she saw, _"They died for my engagement, his proposal."_ She bitterly thought, she tried to make herself hate him but was unsuccessful, it had not his fault but God’s, twisting the threads of her life into this. Carmilla closed her eyes for she knew no one would extend her the courtesy she had been forced to give her family.

_"Could I have grown to love him? Could he me? Was the love of my life the man I am leaving behind? Would it have been the kind of love that transcended time?"_

“Dracula…” She last said before slit her throat.


	2. His After Part One.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Yes, I'm that obsessed with this pairing that I wrote two chapters in one evening, go me! This chapter we see the events of Episode One unfold, along the reasons our dear Sister has such fascination with the Occult and joined the Church. If you like it please read and leave a comment so I know I'm not looking like a complete idiot by doing this lmao.

_HIS AFTER PART ONE._

Agatha Van Helsing had been born an only child to a modest and unloving home. Her mother, God rest her soul, had died during childbirth, which in turn had made her father a drunk, (She liked to think that it was not the fact she hadn’t been born a boy) but even worse than that, one without money.

Her childhood had been spent observing those around her, learning to tolerate the crowd that so easily condemned intelligent and driven women, no matter that they no longer were on the medieval ages. She questioned where it fit her; girls that had never known silks had nothing to lose when the town’s hysterics shouted their names like a curse.

Ever since she could remember she had felt as if this life was not her own. In her dreams she saw glimpses of life long left behind, they told of a happiness she knew in her current circumstances she could not achieve, colourful clothes swirling in pretty balls, three brothers of whom she could remember no names.

It haunted her, how whilst she was living on those visions everything felt too close to her but when she extended her hands to grasp the tendrils that held them together, she could never reach them.

Only a pair of dark brown eyes was she able to savage. They haunted her worse than any others and she searched for them everywhere she went, never finding their owner.

The lack of parental guidance had made her, after her twelfth birthday, come clean to the town’s Priest, the only person who had ever shown her any compassion. He never once interrupted as she desperately recounted all that she saw every time she closed her eyes, there was no pity in his eyes when the longing in her blue ones became almost palpable when it poisoned her.

To her utmost surprise, he had responded by explaining, in a most honest and patient way, that God’s plans more often than not were thwarted by the cruel reality of his creations. The Almighty could have never anticipated the corruption His sons and daughters were capable of.

She returned to him every day after and with time Father Kire began to teach her of things he shouldn’t, tales and legends, things that now were used only to scare toddlers into compliance.

Agatha soon learned that these type monsters were very different at their core, from what they were made out to be, every single one of them had been human once; which beget the question, could she become that which he told her was demonic? It was a question she, many years later, in the most unfortunate of circumstances, learned the answer to.

Her fifteenth birthday was marked by the death of Tomen Van Helsing, a fat, cruel man who was now buried six feet under. Unwilling to marry she joined the Church, the only institution that gave her unlimited access to the beasts in the shadows, no questions asked. The Sister devoted herself further into the study of the Occult, eventually even forgetting the reason she had first learned about it.

As her knowledge grew so did her bravado, she searched for the undead, killed them before they could kill, gave what she liked to think was peace to those restless people. All with the protection the Catholic Church gave and the valuable insight of her mentor.

Until she found them; their exact shape and colour had remained in the back of her mind, a parasite unwilling to leave its host and for all that she had forgotten they had remained but she knew not of the man that they belonged to.

A distraught foreigner had arrived from Transylvania, screaming and crying about a demon that had butchered his travelling companion, had sucked him dry, he had said between fits of hysteria. When provided with paper and pen he had sketched the face of the culprit beautifully and she knew, could have known from a mile away that that man was someone she already knew.

Storming through the convent and tearing down the library in a rage she found no explanation that would corroborate if the account she had heard was real or a simple dream fuelled by the opioids found in his satchel.

Her obsession grew by the day until she stole the key to the Father’s personal collection and got the name of his kind, he was a Vampire, an immortal being with supernatural strength and speed. It left her breathless, finally knowing the truth.

The voice she had buried resurfaced with a name; _Dracula_.

That night she left the key and a letter, to the man that had been her surrogate father for the better part of a decade, on his bed stand. She knew in her heart he would understand, her need to seek him out, even if it meant facing a danger she never had before, even if he was the last thing she saw.

==/==/==

Agatha, for all her excitement, knew that arriving to his Castle with so little information was suicide and since he had so much time available, her first order of action was to travel; she’d like to have time to question him before he tore open her throat.

She stayed where she could afford, graciously accepted the food that the people gave her in exchange to bless their homes or their babies. Travelled far and wide until she had found so much about his legend and his kind her sack became heavy on her back.

Her hands grew rough with the years, for a rouge nun was not considered on the payrolls and there were times when she had to work before she could afford to leave again but like a chameleon, she adapted.

It occurred to her, that she would have been at his doorstep earlier had it not been for the letter that reached her in June. Her dear Kire had been an old man when she had left his Church seven years ago but now he was on the brink of dead, waiting for It to claim him in that dingy town they both had called home.

She took everything she owned, sold some things to afford passage on a ship that would take her the fastest to him, worked in the kitchen the whole trip to distract herself from the mounting pain she felt on her chest every day they grew closer to shore and he further away from her.

By the time she arrived his mind had slipped away but he was still alive. She ushered everyone out his room as soon as she got there, threatening to lock it with key if they didn’t stop being so insufferable as to leave them alone, screaming in several languages many curses when they so much as knocked until they finally went away for good.

The apron they had loaned her grew bloodier by the hour for the three days that he remained on this earth but he died by her side as he was always meant to.

She ripped the cross that hung on his neck and replaced it with her own. Tears left her eyes for the first time since she was a child; she mourned who he was, what he had given her, how he had challenged her constantly like an equal, how he had given fatherly affection to a simple girl from a nowhere village that could have ended in a very different place were it not for him.

She attended his every service, even when she believed not in the God he had loved so very much. Agatha had never found Him during her travels or her early years of life found nothing that would justify His existence now. Perhaps humankind had become so wicked He preferred to turn a blind eye to that which He had created, perhaps the Almighty felt pain just like his Son, the one of his creations and the collective pain of the millions on this earth had killed His supposedly never-ending kindness and love. 

Yes, she had seen the evidence of His leaving everywhere she went, for every smiling person there were three that would rather throw themselves off a cliff than be alive come dawn.

Alas, she waited a month before leaving for Budapest and settling there.

╌

She had been woken up at three o'clock by frantic Nun that told her the fishermen had found a barely alive man in their nets, he was in terrible condition and they needed every single Sister in the convent to attend to him.

Two hours had passed since and she knew it was an undead they were harbouring in their midst, one in particularly fine condition as far as undeads went, perhaps a Turned one even if their luck had deserted them.

He called in his sleep for a girl named Mina, over and over again until it was enough to give the Nuns reason to gossip. In a building full of women it appeared as frequently as they could muster enough information for it to be entertaining, the Superior Mother did little to discourage it, being an avid partaker herself and so she found her suppers filled with questions that her research gave her the power to answer.

She decided to prepare her fellow Sisters the moment his hand wrote " _Dracula is God_." for the first time, armed them to the best of her abilities while being careful to not show her excitement to finally meet the man she had chased for the last twenty years.

Agatha didn’t leave her laboratory until the fishermen appeared once again with Johnathan’s fiancée at their door, Mina Murray, three weeks later. The girl he called for and whose name now belonged in the corner of her mind that created annoyance.

He was to wake soon and so she explained the relevant part of the situation to the blonde, with blunt terms and short sentences. Agatha was scolded many times throughout but if she were in the girl’s position, the cold hard truth would be the thing she would appreciate the most.

They dressed her as one of them and she accompanied her to hear the tale of how this man had escaped Dracula’s Castle. Every time he stopped she pushed him harder and harder because she would hear the whole god-damn story, even if she had to pry it from his dead lips.

In certain occasions Mina looked at her with anger and resentment in her eyes, the insistence of the Sister to know was tough on him, she would rather have her be kind and sensible to her clearly traumatized _Johnny,_ others with pity because how could a Nun not believe in God? But she was too excited to be polite company.

The Castle sounded like the thing of nightmares, especially when he encountered the undeads that the Count had trapped in his wooden boxes and with every passing minute she firmly believed herself to be madder than previously thought because even after what he went through she wanted to know how many secrets were etched in those walls, how many different screams she could count if she touched the stone.

He had described Dracula asking him about the sun, heavily insinuating he had lost a marble, while in reality, she found it perfectly understandable to want to know how something looked after four hundred years of being forbidden to glance at it.

When she finally gave him what he wrote his reaction was to be expected. She admired this man if a little too idealistic for his normal conversation over tea to truly interest her.

She waited for him to realize he was undead, a successfully Turned Vampire and the happy couple hugged when Mina revealed herself, as loving and faithful to him as before he became what he now was.

They were in the middle of something when she had to leave them. She didn’t care at this point that Mina had unknowingly invited a predator near her since she seemed perfectly capable to defend herself when the time came and there were various stakes in the room.

He was here, she knew, by the bat that attacked the bubbly girl and Agatha had waited long enough to see if she remembered his eyes as accurately as she believed.

╌

He had come for Johnathan in the shape of a black wolf and she found it funny, that in every single text she could find he was described as the type of man that could get any frigid and proper Queen out of her bloomers with only his words and he disguised himself as this. 

The transformation back to human seemed extremely painful but she’d lost by this point her ability to talk, her eyes were glued to the thing that twisted and turned because for the love of God, how fucking _hard_ could it be for him to indulge her one little desire of seeing if his bloody eyes matched those she had known all her life?

When she finally saw them up close she felt like jumping on her two dainty feet, they were exactly as she remembered and her whole journey had been validated. She was joyful and _invincible_ and _powerful_ ; she would get through this _alive_ because none of her fellow Sisters were stupid enough to let him in and she _won_.

In her giddiness, her pride got the best of her and she insulted the very dangerous Vampire several times with gusto, taunted him to her heart’s content. Tomorrow morning a lecture awaited her on ' _What was she possibly thinking?'_ But this moment was hers and hers alone and she would do whatever her heart and adrenaline commanded her to.

She also really enjoyed their banter.

_-‘I don't want to worry you, but the army of the faithful can't seem to look me in the eye.’_   
  
_‘They’re Nuns and you’re naked.’_

_-_ _‘One should never rush a nun.’_

_‘Your words were not welcome here.’_

_-_ _‘You see, I'm not certain I see the appeal. Each_ _to his own, I suppose.’_

Until _she_ was the one stupid enough to give him her blood, the legends had told that they were able to read their prey based solely on that, bloody hell Johnathan had just confirmed it to her half an hour ago but when his dark purring and velvet voice said her _full name_ she was back to being the lesser being.

She was _fucked_ because he now was privy to things she’d rather keep hidden but her recently found God favoured her and he said nothing particularly condemning.

She left for the room where the lovebirds were with her nails pressing on her wound because self-inflicted pain was the only thing he had left her with, along with tumultuous thoughts.

Her lamenting was stopped when she arrived to find the dirty and red-faced Mina. She remembered herself capable of empathy and gave her, her condolences, ushering the poor girl to where they would all pray, knowing fully well that this young lady had just lost in less than a day what she had believed her whole life to be true.

Then everything went to hell.

She took Mina’s hand in her own because her pride and obsession had brought this upon them but she would not let the girl’s death be on her conscience if she could help it. They ran towards her laboratory and she created with sacramental breath what could hardly pass for a shield.

The screams of her friends continued as she reread the notes she already knew by heart. This was her punishment for dancing so close to the Devil and thinking she would make him bend to her, for making them join the party when she should have faced all this by herself.

The sounds continued well into the night; he was taking his time taking apart those who thought could best the Prince of Vampires and it was all her fault but she refused to cry because once she started, it would be hard to stop and their survival depended on her keeping her wits about her.

Instead, she began a mental list of the women the convent had lost, she would make sure they were remembered if she made it out alive; _Ginna, who refused to let any of them do their chores alone. Cassandra, who hoarded milk in her room and drank it when she thought no one heard. Marissa, that tried to teach her how to bake. Rose-_

“I don’t know how you could bear to listen to that." Remarked the girl in a soft voice. She answered truthfully, that this was her fault and punishment. They talked some more and she answered her questions with the patience and care she had lacked before.

She was starting to curl into herself when Johnathan approached them and she knew something was wrong the moment she met those sinful eyes, the Nun tried to warn Mina about it but she wouldn’t listen, thinking love would save what was already lost.

Agatha had called him a beast before without really believing it but when he shattered the illusion the girl was so desperately clinging to she knew that she had been right. He was a beast and a monster, a cold-blooded murderer that had no care on ending stories that were not his to end, he caused misery everywhere he went.

Now that she knew of God she was completely sure he was her curse for being weak, utterly unable to shake her depraved fascination with him out of her bones.

But the Sister was resourceful even amidst the chaos and knew what he wanted was her. Summoning the last of her bravado she exposed her neck to him and successfully saved Mina. 

She had always known of her fragile mortality, that she would die and Agatha had made her peace with it tonight.

“Agatha Van Helsing. You’ll be part of me. You’ll travel to the New World in my veins. I’m going to make you last.”

“Come, boy. Suckle.”

He did as he was told. She felt the exact moment his teeth ripped through the tender skin of her neck, after just a few minutes he had to hold her to keep her upright as he continued to feed.

She felt dizzy, perhaps it was the trauma that had robbed her of coherent thoughts but in her delirious state, she would dare say that the way he licked her neck was almost sensual as if he regretted killing her but couldn’t make himself stop. There was also that weakness in her legs she knew was not entirely fuelled by blood loss.

The warmth of his skin on hers was the last thing she knew before everything went black.


	3. His After Part Two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Okay people, I couldn't control myself but what's new? This chapter tells the events of the second episode but goes into different territory than the show halfway through. 
> 
> Look I like Zoe but she is not Agatha and Dracula waking up 123 years later and her dying when she was already infected is bullshit, you know what's also bullshit? When every single person he feeds of becomes an undead, so I'm going to fix that mess in the only way that I know how. 
> 
> Also there's Dark Agatha in this chapter because she can't be as holy as she is portrayed, I mean, no offence my darling Queen of Boss Ass Bitches but every hero has their moments.

_HIS AFTER PART TWO._

He knew he’d found the perfect Bride the moment she offered her neck and her life to save the wisp of a girl Johnny had wanted to marry. 

It was only when he began to drink her blood that he realized who she really was, learned of the visions that gave way to the woman that stood before him. It was the same bloodline and the same essence, he assumed, as Before. Not the oddest thing he’d seen in the last few centuries but very close.

After four hundred years it was obvious he would forget her face, had she not died in the snow she would have mothered his children. He smiled, she would now.

It disturbed him to remember anything that came Before, he avoided it as much as possible and his victims were always too busy pleading for their lives to ask him anything of consequence with their remaining time, but for Agatha, Carmilla, whoever she was, he tried.

He remembered that among all the portraits hers had been the only one to catch his eye, the daughter of one of his Court’s Dukes.

He had sent word the very next day, with explicit instructions that she was to be given a full month to adapt to the idea; his father had looked at him with disbelief when he witnessed the exchange between his son and the messenger and while his pride would not allow him to say it out loud, Prince Dracula had surprised even himself. A warrior Lord, a warrior Prince caring about how she felt about the news even when she had no choice, what an absurd concept.

When she didn’t arrive the night she was supposed to, he joined the Royal Guard in their search, only to find that Carmilla had been assassinated by bandits on her way to the Royal Castle, along with all of her family but one brother, of which he knew were three, (had bothered to learn was more like it).

He admitted to no one but himself and his whiskey that he mourned for a girl he had never known but eventually, he married as his kingdom demanded. When his first daughter was born he gave her, her name and the Crown he wore on his head gave the consort Queen no option but to accept without question or challenge.

He had been turned nine years after that, by the same man that had later killed him on the battlefield, he awoke a Vampire that same night and eventually learned of how to live in his new state by himself. The years passed and he learned the prudent thing was to cover the scar on his arm. 

The former King embraced almost immediately the opportunity to leave the life he had had behind, yet he found that out of all his sons and daughters Carmilla was the only one he deigned worthy to look after until her casket touched the dirt, having perished of the black plague when it came back.

After that, he checked up on the remaining family of her namesake and found that the Duke had ruined his family’s legacy by becoming a cruel Lord that had been lynched by his hateful subjects. His bastard son, her nephew, was now the only one left of their name, a dedicated blacksmith that had made a name for himself by moving to Italy and inventing the first pistol.

Dracula ignored the outrage that he felt at the circumstances by feeding and later killing the poor drunk that had told him the story. His flavour was like drinking the cheapest of ales, so he didn’t even look at him when he staked him in the chest and he turned into ashes.

With a now passed out Agatha in his arms, he returned to his Castle and proceeded to create the perfect crew to test his newest experiment on. It took him just one week to assemble his subjects, another one to convince every one of them through various means. Among them, a girl he had known and danced with the night away many years ago; the constant consumption of the Sister’s blood had made him nostalgic in his old age.

While he tried to not feed on the finest Vintage he’d encountered further, (save for extreme necessity), he found that every time his lips touched her neck he loosed all the control he had carefully cultivated for centuries. It was safe to say he almost killed her twice or thrice.

He gifted her in return, dreams in which he was not present, simple little things that took almost no effort to concoct but as the days passed he found himself giving away elaborate versions of every desire her heart had ever had.

╌

When Captain Sokolov wrote to him, seven hours before boarding, to ask for more than they accorded to get his Bride in cabin number nine, he considered breaking his neck when they met and staging an accident but since the whole purpose of this was to test the self-control he found himself rapidly losing, he instead smiled with slightly sharpened teeth when they first exchanged greetings and nodded his head absent-mindedly.

He spent the daytime on his cabin, reading the latest medical texts he had been able to acquire. His goal to reproduce had always been based on what little humanity had been able to discover and though he knew that wasn’t much now, he believed that if he waited just another century or so he might then have a real chance.

Alas, his studies lasted three days before he was done and so in his boredom, he conjured the fog.

He went a full week without assassinating anyone, for he found himself feeding only on Agatha. The time he truly thought he’d lost her, he killed Portmann and the Grand Duchess to try and keep the monster within him appeased.

He stared at their lifeless bodies with red pupils and when he found that he couldn’t contain his self-loathing at killing the Nun even after that, he tore their limbs apart and gauged out their eyes before throwing one the bodies overboard.

When they discovered the body of the old lady, his temper was short for he was unable to sleep, so upset he punched several holes through the wooden door of his closet.

He chastised himself constantly for not completing the process and decided that she would be given proper burial when they reached London, he’d stake her himself because the thought of her trapped in a box, full of misery for the rest of time made him want to vomit.

He would rather step into the sun that not stop that from happening for he was sure her eventual madness would be the greatest of his sins.

It wasn’t as easy to make a Vampire as the legends would suggest, simply feeding on them wasn’t enough, he discovered in the first fifty years of his After. They must drink willingly given blood of a fully transformed Vampire, before dying, that part was essential, after that it would still take time for the mutations to take place, the duration changing with each individual. That was exactly why some undeads resurrected as mad, useless puppets.

He’d almost laugh at how disposable they were, his faithful pups; he had made some when the occasion had called for it but after some time, when they descended further and further into madness, he was reminded how what rotted the inside rotted the outside as well, so he killed them.

Dracula continued with his murder spree until the cook and Piotr (the bluffer Piotr) suggested to check cabin number nine and the remaining crew pressured the most reluctant Captain. When he finally accepted to check it, he had to suppress a snarl, tonight he might kill both of them for the audacity and Lord would he make it last, they would die in pain their little minds could never fathom.

He wanted no one to see Agatha before he did and that wasn’t working out well; he hadn’t entered the room since she died but he would tear each of their fingers out before they did go in and dare glance at what was his.

There was also the problem that he had lost his key in one of his bouts of rage. It took him an hour to pickpocket Sokolov. He was among the smartest of the subjects he had picked and as former military, idle chatter didn’t interest him, it took various methods of persuasion from him, some illusions and a game of cards.

When he finally made his way to her; the first thing he heard before he opening the door was that she had a pulse, unlike he previously thought, he heard the blood in her veins, heard the air as it entered her lungs. He didn’t believe in miracles but what was happening could be counted as one, even though she was hanging on by a thread to life.

In his haste to open the door, he almost ripped the frame. He approached the bed to see that she was paler than him, the rise of her chest was so delicate he knew that without his enhanced eyesight he wouldn’t be able to notice.

His first instinct was to see if she was unharmed (any other harm that the wound he made on her neck) but he was a logical man when needed so he stopped his impulses before it was too late for her.

The first thing he did was unbutton his cuffs, with sharp nails he cut himself at the wrist and when the blood came pouring out he gave it to her. Agatha regained consciousness for the first time in weeks and drank greedily from him until she was satisfied and passed out again. He rapidly closed his wound by rubbing the skin together.

What followed was his least favourite part; as soon as her head hit the pillow the seizures began, she shook so badly that he was forced to restrain her by the wrists so she didn’t harm herself, when even that wasn’t enough and she threw him against the wall the bed was against, he had to grab her by the waist with both his arms. Dracula held Agatha as curses left her lips and she scratched that which retained her, namely him.

She never once woke up during the ordeal and he was grateful for that, she had just stopped being human and what scared mortals more than anything were events that they couldn’t control. It didn’t help that seizures were pretty painful too.

He knew that sunset had come even when the fog outside didn’t let him see the horizon. She had been convulsing for at least five hours but within the next one, she stopped. He took off the gag in her mouth; he could not recall the moment he ripped off a part of his sleeve and forced it on her, only that for some reason the thought of her shattering her teeth or worse, cutting her tongue out with them alarmed him to no end. 

Her habit was soaked with sweat, bloody and dirty, her hair a matted mess in her head but colour had finally returned to her cheeks. The transformation had begun and at this point, she most certainly wasn’t human; she was trapped in the Between.

He changed her into one of the gowns stored in the closet, it was simple and green but it was the best he could find in the short period of time that she spent on his home, the only one that would fit her too. He gave her the modesty of retaining her original shift when he took off her habit and when he was done he laid her on the bed. It took him time and dedication to brush her hair back to its original state but he did it nevertheless.

The final touch was added when he took from his pocket and put on her a sapphire ring, a beautiful piece, if he may say so himself; the gem was surrounded by fourteen diamonds, it fit just right in the ring finger of her left hand.

He exited the room and put back the key in the captain’s pocket, whom he found had decided to forget his fear in the closest bottles of rum the poor sod could find. The next day when they went to check Cabin number nine he wouldn't have to be near to know they would find nothing incriminating.

That night when dinner was served none of the remaining people had deigned to leave their cabins, probably too scared they would perish in the night and no one would help or save them, just like the people who had disappeared before them.

It suited him just fine and he read the papers of his residence in London once again, giving special attention to the drafts of the property, after all, there wasn’t such thing as too many secret passages.

╌

A week later as a celebration to the change she would successfully undergo he joined her in her dreams to play chess and told her the story of the three and a half weeks they had been travelling.

Every time it looked like she was going to win he changed the place of the pieces on the board and she was too enthralled by his tale to notice. 

In her dream she was still in her habit, oddly enough, for he knew she didn’t fall in the category of the truly devoted within the religious community... it amused him greatly.

She eventually figured out that she was losing but it was of no matter, he had decided it was time for her to die.

The remaining few were restless and he wouldn't take the fall, even if it _was_ his fault and she still had to perish to be like him, so they would hang her and regain their peace of mind for however short time it lasted.

He was drinking her mortal blood for the last time before she Turned when the reality of things hit her. Dracula didn’t eat, he didn’t drink, “You don’t drink.” She blurted out stupidly.

“Wine.” He corrected, taking a sip from the glass he held in his right hand.

“Uh, the pa- pawn is well-placed, if I can get it to the other side it becomes another Queen.” She stammered, pointing briefly at the white piece.

He was getting impatient, she was trying to live in this fantasy for a little longer, too afraid of the truth, “Forget about the chess and concentrate on the game.” He chided.

“Who was in cabin number nine?” He continued and looked at her, there was a brief silence where she regarded him with curious eyes like he was a puzzle she couldn't quite put together.

Agatha rose from her seat, “How- How did I get here?”

“Don’t you remember?” He said as she turned her back on him.

“We were at the convent. You let Mina go.” She said, looking at anything but him.

_╶_

_He had nothing on but the piece that had belonged to Johnathan in his convalesce and even that was bloodied, his brown orbs met hers and without looking away he screamed at Mina, “I said run! GO! NOW!”_

_╶_

“Yes, but I didn’t let you go, did I?” He insisted.

“Where am I? What is this place?” Agatha demanded, turning on herself to look properly at where she was.

“Ah… Surely you know where you are.” It was not a question, he knew she knew, she just didn’t want to admit to it.

She pointed her index finger to him in an accusatory gesture, while declaring, “People you feed off, you make them dream.”

“The kiss of the Vampire is an opiate.” He stated truthfully.

_╶_

_He had bitten her before her prolonged slumber began and she didn't object, just looked at him through half-lidded eyes, her breathing heavy as her gaze came to rest on his lips and then he lunged for her neck._

_╶_

He took a sip from his glass again.

She came near him, with something akin to disgust on her expression, frowning, “Are you drinking my blood?”

He rose from his chair, stopped just in front of her, “Agatha.” He whispered, “You’re exquisite. So much insight, wit, learning, wickedness even.” He murmured, rolling every syllable on his tongue seductively, her sharp intake of breath told him she was not completely immune to his charm.

He dipped his finger into her blood, the metallic aroma overwhelmed his nostrils, “One does not hurry such a Vintage.” It was the truth; she was the finest he’d ever have. 

When the drop of blood fell back into the glass, he looked her with lust clouding his eyes, “I’ve been making you last.”

He licked his finger and she finally said it, “It’s me. I’m in cabin number nine.”

╌

“Anything to say before we hang you?” Glowered the cook.

Piotr who had taken it upon himself to avoid conflict, held the frame of the Captain back as he yelled, “For God’s sake! You saw her! She could barely lift her head! What are you doing?!”

“Captain, with respect, stay out of it. You kept a murderer safe on this ship!” Olgaren jabbed.

His limited patience didn’t allow for him to continue listening to this nonsense so he pushed the barrel from under her feet in one smooth motion and made use of his imposing height, standing in the way of anyone that tried to save her. 

They all looked at him with contempt in their eyes when he finally allowed them to cut the rope that killed her.

Her body began to convulse in the ground and they all screamed about Gods and Demons; they were distracted so he cut Sokolov’s cheek so he would die first, he had been by far the most problematic of the group. 

None of them would remain, no matter what; she would need to feed as soon as she woke, so he took advantage of his ability to choose the first sacrifice.

Just when the man that she believed to be the Captain was about to punch Count Dracula she opened her eyes. Her senses were assaulted by the many things she could now feel, the winds were cold against her face, she could see the particles of dust in the wooden floorboards underneath her. She smelled it… blood...

Before she could think twice about it she yanked the man that was threatening the Count by the shoulder with a strength that was not human, he cursed her but she didn’t care, her fangs were sharp and she was starving.

She ripped his throat and began drinking, flashes of his life filled her mind and she learned through his blood how to sail and fight.

When Agatha was done with him her hunger remained so she snatched the man with the green vest and latched to his forearm. He tried to get her to let go to no avail, “You’re livelier than a Lemur.” She murmured and heard the exact moment his breathing stopped and then threw his body unceremoniously to the ground.

Around her were four men and a little girl. The first to attack were the ones that possessed guns; she smiled as terror grew in their faces when every bullet that met its mark did no damage at all. She’d go as far to say they tickled.

Knowing now how to fight now she blocked and punched until their dance became too predictable and they were too incapacitated, then she tore one arm off of each, it was barely a minute before those brave lads were nothing but empty vessels.

A skinny boy hit her in the back of the head with a wooden plank, which is an idiotic thing to do when she had proved that not even bullets could touch her, “I’ve known turkeys that are smarter than you.” She commented and her fangs found the artery in his neck, she bit down with so much force his head was almost severed.

“Did you not drink your mother’s milk as a babe? The most conservative nuns say it makes the child daft.” She told him before she was done with him a few seconds later and threw him towards the mast she died in, waving her hand goodbye when his back hit it if he could act silly then so could she.

The last two were a man and his daughter; he offered himself in exchange for his child, to which she consented with a grin. The woman tore form the deck a piece of wood large enough to support the girl’s weight so she could float in it and not drown. She let them say a rushed goodbye before she threw her and the piece out to sea. 

This stranger tasted especially good so she made him last a little longer and just like that she knew so much about the human body she could perform a throughout autopsy on all of her victims, not that she necessarily _would_ but it was now a possibility that was open to her.

He saw the events unfold passively, from when she first killed Sokolov to when she spared the girl in favour of her father.

She looked dishevelled, dangerous, wild; more animal than human, the Bride he’d so devotedly looked for.

She had eaten enough for two weeks to go without but he knew better than anyone that new Vampires could never control themselves on their first feed, so the six lives she had taken tonight did not surprise him. How brutally she did so, did, he had tasted the evilness in her blood, that dark thing in her and how she had quieted it by learning about the one in others but it was more poisonous than he thought.

She looked at the destruction around her detachedly, night had fallen and the light from the lamps were the only thing that shined. From the corners of her mouth dripped blood, she was panting and her hands were shaking, she wanted to laugh, to run, to _scream_ because nothing had ever been so _real_ before.

Her eyes were those of a demon, red and savage; her hunger had been sated but she still craved for something she couldn’t put a name to, Jesus Christ could come out of the sky in that instant and he couldn’t offer anything that would be just right.

Then she observed him as he approached.

Agatha had never kissed a man before but when their gazes met and the eyes that stared back at her were those she had searched half of the world for she couldn’t help herself, her hand cupped his cheeks, staining them and their mouths met, his skin was hot to the touch but hers was _boiling_.

She moaned loudly into his mouth the moment his hands touched the small of her back. He tasted divine so when his tongue tried to open her mouth she relented and his tongue entered her mouth, they battled for dominance but ultimately he won.

She never wanted this to end. 

They could have been kissing for a day or an hour but she didn’t care, the passion that now lived in her was infinite, yet she needed more; she needed _him_ , needed him _all_ but when she broke the kiss and her fingers went to unclasp his cape he stopped her hands.

They stared at each other like that alone could keep them alive.

Then his index finger lifted her chin with so much tenderness she could weep.

“No. This isn’t you.” The things she heard in his tone triggered a change in her.

Agatha broke.


	4. His After Part Three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Guess who again couldn't help herself even when she's dying of the flu? Me!!! Okay so let us make some things clear, a) they don't need soil to sleep because who the fuck came up with that? and b) the sun nor crosses really affect them and I do plan on them finding out eventually.
> 
> Another thing, I find myself editing each chapter several times, if you find any errors, please know my native tongue ISN'T English, be a dear and forgive me.
> 
> This is the LAST chapter of His after, I'm especially proud of their dynamic here, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. Appreciation is noted by leaving kudos or comments with all that said; see ya!

_HIS AFTER PART THREE._

Her knees wouldn’t carry her and she let herself fall to the floor. With her tongue, she traced the fangs that were now part of her set of teeth, long and sharp, the ones of a Vampire. Her heart did beat, hard and strong against her breast, sweat still formed on her brow but her lungs no longer needed air, she could control the size of her irises without a second thought, strangely enough.

It was all too confusing and too much at once, “I can learn about Vampires without your help now.” She growled, hoping it would hurt him to hear it, that he wasn’t needed anymore.

Agatha stood up with ease, noting that nothing required any effort from her now, she wondered if that meant she wouldn't be able to enjoy the small things ever again.

She extended her arms in front of her and in awe looked at her hands, most specifically her nails, claws, whatever they were now. In her left hand, she noticed a ring which surely Dracula had put on her while unconscious, a bit too big for her taste but pretty enough for her first instinct not to be to toss it at his face as violently as possible.

She took it off delicately, placing it on her right hand’s ring finger; she wasn’t his property nor his wife, could never be since entering a chapel would mean seeing crucifixes and the particular idea of a marrying him didn’t appeal to her but a present was a present and it would serve to remind her that curiosity did kill the cat and that she had been too stubborn to heed the many warnings she had been given.

The former Nun wore a dress of green silk, the cloth was soft against her body, it was probably the finest thing she had felt on her life but splatters of blood adorned it. With her sleeve she cleaned the corners of her mouth and the rest of her face, wanting to ruin this which he gave her. 

She closed her eyes before looking at what she had done; severed limbs lay in awkward positions and there were very few full corpses. A sigh left her lips as she began to close the eyes of each head she could find and subsequently sat in the only spot of the deck that was not covered in blood.

It was six lives that she had put an end to this night, as brutally murdered as her deceased friends.

Without looking or acknowledging the Count she tore out a piece of wood she considered sharp enough and staked them all. It was the only thing she could give them anymore, not transforming into something they never asked to be, like her, by the time she was finished her lashes were wet with unshed tears but she felt it was disrespectful to the victims to cry for a crime that was of her own making.

When she finally turned to look at him, her spirit, if she still had one, was exhausted. He had committed the worst transgression she could imagine, she wanted to hate him for it and hoped she could begin to in the next few days. 

He was concerned for her she knew, could feel it in the part of him that now lived within her, this bond that they now shared and made her want to skin herself alive.

The idea of the sun ending what he started gave her unparalleled comfort but she didn’t think herself brave enough to try it.

“I always wondered how it would feel to become one of the creatures I studied if I’d be able to willingly sacrifice what I believed in. You have made that choice for me.” Agatha whispered.

“You willingly offered your neck to me, my dear.” He protested.

“I thought you’d kill me!” She barked back at him.

“I looked for you the best part of my life.” She moved slowly towards him, like the predator she now was; stopping when there was a finger’s width of space between them and looked at the man that had damned her in the eye.

“In my dreams, you were clever, if vain, a more interesting man than any other.” She couldn’t help but to smile sadly at how very vain indeed he had turned out to be.

“I deceived myself into believing that it was worth it, everything I had to do that took me closer to you.” For a few moments, back in the convent, it had been.

“You are clever, if vain and more interesting than any other man I have known, will know, but at your core, you are _nothing_ but a monster.” She said with enough venom in her tone to kill a whole city.

Agatha flinched when he tried to take her hand, removed it from his proximity as fast as her new body allowed her to.

“Get rid of the bodies, we are still five days away from London and I don’t fancy going to prison as soon as we reach the docks.” With that, she made her way towards cabin number nine and slammed the door shut.

╌

He did as she asked and grabbed the bodies and limbs that testified to her hunger, disposed of them by throwing them overboard. They were still on open sea, so any other ship that saw them floating on the water would assume the sharks had done away with them. 

The next morning she refused to come out of her room, going as far as to curse like a sailor, probably influenced by the two she had fed on. Her accent was also no longer there, he noted, sounding as British as him but he knew it would resurface, hoped it would.

When he was finished he rested his elbows in the former captain’s desk and his head on his hands; She made him feel things he had forgotten and he didn’t like it, there was a certain beauty to forgetting and he had wanted to live the rest of his life soaking in it. 

Uncertainty was growing within him and he found that that was worse, she had reached into his chest and resurrected that he had always wanted dead. He didn’t consider the possibility of her being right about him because for some cursed reason it almost hurt when the words left her lips, a kind of pain he hadn’t felt for four hundred years.

He cleaned the deck that same night, not wanting the sight to make her more upset if she decided to come out for whatever reason, wishing the whole time that she weren’t able to wield her words in such a vicious way.

It would take them at least a week to reach port and without any humans, on board, he could only steer the ship from sunset to dawn, since there was no longer any food he couldn’t muster the energy required to keep the fog up.

He just hoped to arrive without any serious wrinkles on his face, what he saw in the mirror already angered him enough.

They were two days away from England when he found her door unlocked, he searched the whole ship for her as fast as his feet could carry him and when he found nothing his thoughts went to the door that led out to the deck, to how the sun was in all of its glory outside. His heart beat wildly in his chest as he ran towards it and he found her there, ready to step out to her certain death.

Time moved slowly from that point, he grabbed both her arms and forced her back to safety. She was screaming at him in Dutch but he didn’t process any of her words, he was busy making sure to keep her against the wall so she couldn’t go back.

The idea of losing her like that was unthinkable to him, he realized, he knew in the back of his mind that no matter that they had just met if she died he would step into the sun himself as soon as her ashes hit the floor.

His face went red when the fright somewhat subsided and intense anger replaced it, he began to shake her, while he had never before been an aggressive man towards women what she just did made him snap and he found himself cursing for the first time in a century.

“WHAT THE _FUCK_ WERE YOU DOING?! YOU COULD HAVE DIED!” He screamed as loudly as his vocal cords allow him.

“I WANTED TO YOU EGOTISTICAL PRICK! I NEVER WANTED TO BE LIKE _THIS_!” She shrieked.

He continued to shake her, not knowing how to make her see sense and Agatha slapped him then, the mark of her hand was red against the skin of his cheek but due to her nails he too had four open cuts now, they bleed and hurt but he didn’t care. 

Dracula let go of her and went to the Captain’s quarters, where he raided the dead man’s supply of alcohol, he didn’t remember the last time he tasted human food or drink but he decided to drink himself to oblivion just this one time.

He wasn’t counting on his enhanced senses to make the process faster but by the third bottle he couldn’t form coherent thoughts, still, he tried to make his way back to cabin number eight on his own.

She was still angry with him when she found him stumbling through the corridors, he had both hands on the wall for support and appeared to not notice her presence, he was talking nonsense and laughing by himself. He fell and his nose started to bleed, she just rolled her eyes and helped him up.

“You big baby.” She taunted, grunting when he rested his whole weight against her and since he couldn’t walk by himself she was forced to endure it until they reached his room.

It was a long process in which they both almost fell too many times for her to keep count, he told her the most random of facts like they were his greatest legacy. She indulged him in his inebriated state and replied to his questions with one-word answers.

When she was about to lay him on his bed he pulled her down on top of him, “Just what I needed.” She groaned, about to get herself off him when his arms enveloped her frame.

“Stay.”

His breath reeked of cheap alcohol but she couldn’t find it in herself to get upset at him for his deluded request.

She raised her eyebrow, “What’s in it for me, hmmm?” The undead said mockingly.

She rested her face on his chest when his eyes opened for the briefest of moments, “So beautiful…” He mused in a tender tone before falling asleep.

“What am I ever to do with you?”

But Agatha stayed.

She woke before him and left for her room, taking one of his books with her.

╌

He found a chess set among the deceased’s things fifteen hours before they reached their destination. The Count thought it was a perfect opportunity for them to play a rematch, a semi-honest game; after his migraine diminished on its own he realized it was time they talked, he also knew she wouldn’t stay by his side without some good incentive and he planned to give it to her.

He dusted off the pieces one by one and then the board, when it was ready he gathered the objects and left to find her.

She was in the kitchen reading a book that he recognized as his own, he didn’t remember ever loaning it to her or seeing her on his room but he let her have it without reproach.

In the table he set up the game and began to arrange the pieces properly, she eyed from time to time what he was doing but didn’t acknowledge his presence any further than that.

When he was finished he took a seat and cleared his throat loudly enough to get her attention. She sighed, putting down the book and turning the board so the black pieces were on her side.

“Are you going to play properly this time, Count Dracula?” She prodded.

“Cross my heart.” He answered enthusiastically.

She tilted her head to the side, examining him, “What’s the catch?”

“You wound me, my dear.” He chuckled before continuing, “Your stay by my side.”

“Why would I want that? Considering the recent turn of events.” She questioned.

“Unlimited access to the documents in my Vault, unlimited questions to my experiences with the paranormal as long as they are not of personal nature.” He grinned, “And most importantly the pleasure of my company.”

She _‘hmmed’_ , tapping her lips repeatedly with her index finger, “For how long am I to stay?”

“Ten years.” He continued.

“No.” She responded.

“Come on, you have eternity now, what’s ten years in the grand scheme of things?” He inquired.

“No.” She claimed.

“Five.” He suggested.

“Two.” She announced with finality, “And if I win?”

“I shall never bother you again and you may take whatever your undead heart desires from said Vault.” He explained and she smiled at him with pointy teeth.

“On one condition.” She dictated and began counting with her fingers, “You will never, while I live with you, kidnap innocents to experiment on, I don’t want any more Johnathan’s. Every person we are forced to feed on, we will stake, I find myself not fond of insane beings. Finally, I want my study away from your nosiness.”

“Those are three, Agatha… but I agree.” He breathed.

“Let us begin then.” She beamed.

She was a good player, he had to admit, but he was a four-hundred-year warlord; he had played this game far more times than her, learned how to at the same age he was taught to read. He knew every tactic there was and he would not be bested by her, every move she made he had already anticipated. 

He had chosen this game because the chances of her winning were next to none, while he wanted to give her some false sense of control over the situation he would get what he wanted in the end.

They spent several hours in companionable silence and when frustration got the best of her she began to bite her lower lip. Her movements became bolder by the time she realised she wouldn’t win and he took advantage of that to finally obliterate her King.

She groaned like a child that had been denied candy and he laughed, in turn, she glared at him for having the audacity to find her misery funny but that only encouraged him. When she got tired of hearing him she stood up and left the room, muttering under her breath. “Insufferable man.”

“Don’t forget your things on the ship!” He called after her with a sing-song voice.

He could hear the annoyed _‘Ughhh!’_ that left her lips and began laughing once again.

╌

It didn’t take long for them to disembark the ship, the night could barely be considered as cool but he still offered her his cape and surprisingly she accepted. The carriage arrived speedily to take them to his estate, his things were already there so they could adapt as quickly as possible to the house. 

After so many years of living in that maze of a Castle, he longed for open, uncomplicated spaces, so he had curtains custom made for the huge windows his new home had. He also installed an armoury to remind himself of his glory days as a General.

A man was waiting at the door to give him the keys to the residence and afterwards offered to give them a tour of it, but he said in the politest way he could that it would not be necessary, that they were tired from the trip, so the short and bald man offered his goodbyes to the Count and whom he believed to be the Countess. Agatha who was probably bored out of her mind played along with it for a moment and rested her head against his shoulder as they waved him goodbye.

The next thing she did was open every door to claim the exact room she wanted as hers and the one she wanted for her study; the next day she forced him to change the locks on both of the doors and have only two keys made for each. 

She told him with a toothy grin that if she found he had entered her rooms she would dye all of his clothes pink and he reminded her that it was his house they were living in, she tilted her head condescendingly and stared at him in a manner that suggested he had no real power now that she was part of his life. He sulked for the rest of the day.

He brought a renowned seamstress to make her a full wardrobe the day after that and when she glowered at him and told him in a hiss that she was perfectly fine as she was, he threatened to have the old lady for supper. She relented after that but not before slamming the door on his face and he was proud because for the first time since leaving the Demeter he had bested her whims.

She was adamant she would rather choke on the dead’s blood than use a corset so every dress she had made was specifically constructed to give the impression that she was wearing one. When the time came for him to pay the sum was ridiculous and he wondered how much time it would take that blasted woman to drain his coffers.

He had crow’s feet when the time for them to feed arrived another week later; they chose three Oxford professors that were deeply intelligent but universally hated by the student population, as always they would not be missed.

He cleaned the tears that leaked from her eyes with his thumbs when the time to stake them came and she looked at him with genuine fondness for the first time. His reaction was to blurt out stupidly that it was time for them to go home, he offered her his arm she took it without a second thought and they disappeared into the night.

The next day he took her skating and her vocabulary made it sound like it was an old man that was talking, when he teased her about it she blushed and began to giggle; the sound was like hearing bells and he smiled in return before pushing a strand of hair out of her face.

Later that night they were reading by the fire when she remarked that a democracy was in her opinion better than a monarchy, he told her that the only thing he truly believed in was inherited power and they began a debate that lasted until they had to close the curtains for the day ahead.

Without knowing the exact moment it happened, they both found themselves for the first time in their lives, at peace.


	5. Their Now: Year One Part One.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: The start is very depressing because my bunny got gravely ill this morning and my already majorly depressed ass is grieving for something that's yet to happen. So I decided Agatha needs to grieve too. I hope you enjoy it and know that every kudos and comment I get helps me put out 3k chapters on the daily.

_THEIR NOW._

_YEAR ONE PART ONE._

The price she had paid was great and nostalgia became something so constant it turned familiar; It had been two months that she had lived with him. She knew everything there was to know about Vampires except for who was the first of their kind but her mind was now unoccupied so she let herself remember how the sun felt on her face.

Loneliness became a constant too, while his company was endearing, he was only one man and she spent many years of her Before travelling around the world, knowing all kinds of people and places. It was something she thought she would not miss after Budapest but she had seen the error of such thoughts.

Dracula did not bat an eye when she sought human company but they both knew it couldn’t last, friends were a liability, at least the kind of ones she was sure to make, they would be fine for ten or twenty years but when their hairs turned grey and hers remained the same they were prone to noticing something was not right.

Also, she was not strong enough to see them as they withered away, to lay them down to rest and control the anxiety and terror that would come when the treacherous voice in the back of her mind reminded her that they might not really be dead but decaying sentient corpses. It was a very different thing to stake someone you loved.

It took a toll on her, this lifestyle, the constant killing, the _“if’s”_ that came when her mind wondered who exactly were the people she had stolen so much from, the knot she felt on her stomach when they had to be staked exactly within an hour span of time so their only remains were ashes; that part was convenient, she didn’t know how many bodies they could leave behind before making a mistake. 

It was exactly that that bothered her, that she was begun to look at a heinous act with normality, that she didn’t remember every one of their faces when the ghost of their blood would live in her veins until the ends of time.

There was also the lies she had to tell, the caution they had to exercise every time someone asked them a personal question they couldn’t avoid or deflect and forced them to answer with details that come solely from their imagination.

It all became a heavy weight on her shoulders because Agatha Van Helsing the rebellious Nun died along with her Sisters in a convent and the woman that knew of her tale was another person entirely.

She had left her behind, in her Before.

She had become everything she used to fight against and the skin she inhabited disgusted her, how this corrupted body got its nourishment through the suffering of others.

The few times she saw a pregnant woman in the street she was forced to advert her eyes, for all the hope that the Count had for procreation she knew deep in her soul that it would never be possible. It was something she had come to want, with age.

She had been a Nun because of circumstance and not by any real choice when she was a kid and her father came back particularly violent she’d tell herself that the children she would have would only smile when she crossed the door. 

If by some curse she got pregnant, the most logical thing would be for the baby to eat her innards while it grew in her belly and what would happen if she gave birth? Would it stay frozen in time like her? No, it was best it didn’t happen.

The days passed and the season changed once again and every day she found it harder to have the energy to keep up with their banter, the one she had enjoyed so much. Her words failed her more often than not and even when he gave her the courtesy of pretending not to notice she knew he was deeply upset.

She had grown numb and it had been _so beautiful_ while it lasted, the feeling of realness but she was back to being ten and once again the tendrils that held her reality together were just a little too out of her grasp.

She let herself float away even when he moved heaven and earth so she could stay.

Her dreams came back so she slept, took to waking only to feed, found that reading no longer interested her as it once did and his Vault also loosed any appeal. 

She had mastered Vampires but there was still too much in there about other things for her to have any real reason close it, still, on a particularly rainy London night she gave him back her key before falling asleep to the sound of water droplets. 

Agatha dreamt of a gentle father and a bossy mother, of an arranged marriage she had come to accept, of the Crown that would follow.

He gave her beautiful, thoughtful things in his preoccupation, those her former self would have jumped from joy at receiving it but now she just let them collect dust in her study. The more desperate he got the more extravagant they became and though the feeling never stayed they gave her heart a little of warmth, if only for some minutes.

There was ice in her chest where there used to be love but it stopped the pain and everything else and she decided she’d rather not thaw it.

She was staring at the wall like it held all the answers when her door opened, he rested his body against the frame and observed her for a while before coming in and sitting at the edge of her bed, “I guess I’ll have to hide all of my clothes now if your threats are to be believed.” He joked.

She turned to look at him but didn’t respond, continued to stare at the one spot in the wall that intrigued her, the one that resembled the head of Marie Antoinette.

Everything she saw as of late were bloody severed heads and staked bodies, so many of them.

He moved to rest next to her, both their backs to the headboard. Dracula waited a little before taking her hand in his, comforting her in the only way he could think of and she felt again for the first time in two months, tears left her eyes without her permission and she began sobbing in his shoulder.

He surprised her by moving her into his lap so her head could rest against his chest, she heard the loud _‘thumping’_ of his heart and sobbed harder, his arms embraced her and he began rocking her like a child, “I know Agatha, I know.” He said with a broken voice; His tone made her cry even worse.

“I miss the sun.” She acknowledged.

“I know.” He empathized.

“I don’t know who I am anymore.” She wept.

“I know.” He consoled.

“You took _so_ much from me.” She grieved.

“I’d give it all back if I could.” He croaked.

In that moment, seeing her like that, he wished he could, give everything he had taken back.

They could continue like that but they know so much about one another on blood alone that it was not necessary, he knew how much she was hurting and grieving, what he had forced her to leave behind. 

He had long forgotten how to be human, had cut that part off his soul so only the most intense things affected him in a miserable attempt at survival but she had not yet done it, so instead he did the only thing he could and stayed by her side, brushing her hair back every time it fell on her face.

Her sobs subsided ever so slowly; She was frail in a way he couldn’t have ever imagined her being and he vowed to protect her from himself when they were done with this. 

Dracula finally accepted that the many insults that had been thrown at him were all true. He reduced the bravest, the strongest and the most cunning he would ever meet to a whimpering thing with his selfishness. The pain that had consumed him over the last eight weeks was his divine punishment.

They fell asleep in the same position they started this in.

╌

Agatha began to heal after that long night, forgave herself for the atrocities she had to commit to stay alive, wrote in a hardcover journal, in a code of her own creation, small descriptions about their victims, the achievements they had in their mortal lives, so even when the outside world forgot them they would never disappear completely.

Tried to do good to wipe the red off her hands, if only a little, it took her time to figure out how she would do it but in the end, she found many things that could use just a little bit more support, many overlooked people that had taken to the shadows.

She learned to cook so she could feed nutritious things to the poor and the hungry, that lived in London’s streets, joined the many women that were already doing so and filled at the same time her need for kinship. They would never be her friends but they were most certainly not strangers.

She bought supplies for the ones that sewed because she refused to ever use a needle, learn how to, preferred to listen to Dracula’s long rants about the diminishing amount of monarchies in the world before subjecting her fingers to that torture.

Most importantly she found safe housing for the ones that had left abusive homes.

She found herself smiling more frequently, for she was finally doing something that mattered. She spent quite a bit of money on her projects but he denied her nothing, only rolled his eyes and told her that the fortune he had acquired over the course of his life was too vast for them to do away with in her simple 'tests', as he liked to call them.

The only problem she now had was that he had become distant, it had started with little things; He left the room when she entered it, avoided her questions every time they left her mouth but like a snowball it escalated until they didn’t talk anymore, each feeding on their own.

She was coming back from checking up on a badly beaten teenage girl when she found a carriage at the gates of her home, the coachman told her that he was here to take Count Dracula to the docks to a “discreet” ship that left to the New World.

To say she was pissed was an understatement, she had a white-knuckled grip and her whole body was shaking, with her super strength and speed she went for the man and dragged him from the collar to a desolate alley that was roughly a mile away, her fangs descended from her gums and her eyes turned red.

“If you want to live to see dawn you will take your transport and tell all the other coachmen that you know or find that if they don’t want their severed heads on pikes near Belsize Park none of them will agree to take Count Dracula _anywhere_ , are we clear?” She hissed in his ear.

The man nodded and took off running, he was smart enough to not scream for help, she'd give him that.

She dusted off her dress and went home, opened the door harshly and walked straight for his room, as always the door was unlocked.

He was packing the last of his things, several suitcases were perfectly accommodated by the door and there were more in the parlour, enough of them to tell her he wasn’t planning on coming back any time soon. 

She closed the door behind her and locked it, barrelling the exit with her body, he wouldn’t get through it without hearing a piece of her mind.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She asked like it wasn’t obvious.

“Leaving.” He articulated.

“To the New World, no less or so the man said.” She nagged.

“Indeed.” He conceded, folding one of his shirts.

“Have you considered how will you make a three month’s journey on a ‘discreet’ ship without starving yourself?” She challenged, knowing he will have eaten everyone by the second month at most.

“I’ll figure it out.” He demurred, pinching the bridge of his nose with irritation.

“No, you won’t. Look at me.” She grabbed his chin forcefully and turned it so they were looking each other in the eye.

“Why do you want to leave?” She disputed, her brows turning into a frown, “Because of what you did to me? Is it guilt that’s tormenting the warlord?”

“Don’t mock me, Agatha.” He fumed, enunciating each word with special care.

“You make it too easy.” She seethed, going back to the door.

He sat in the chair that accompanied the coffee table, glared at her before beginning to tap his nails rhythmically against the white marble. “You’ll be looked after, given a five number pension every month. The house is on both our names now but you take it.”

“I don’t want it.” She pointed out, waving the idea away with her hand like a fly.

“Don’t be difficult.” He grumbled, running his hands through his hair.

“You’re the one that’s being difficult.” She scoffed.

“Why do you want to leave?” She questioned again.

“Because you were right, I am a monster; I killed those prude Nuns who had done nothing but annoy me! I kidnapped you and almost killed you twice in my home! Then I put you on a ship full of people I planned on murdering viciously, which I enjoyed I might add, then when they tried to stop me I blamed it on you.” He stood abruptly from his seat and began to pace like the room was a cage and not a part of their home.

“Then I turned you and killed you!” He finished, throwing out the chair he had used a moment prior through the window.

“Are you done with the theatrics?” She said, crossing her arms and raising her eyebrow.

“Yes, you did all of that, you hurt me and others but you can either wallow in your guilt, convince yourself that I haven’t forgiven you and leave for no good reason or change and be better, starting with that sadistic nature of yours.” She prompted.

“You’ve forgiven me?” He asked, his mouth hanging just a little bit open.

“Don’t change the subject.” Agatha huffed.

“And what could I do to atone for four hundred years of slaughtering the innocent?” He spluttered.

“What about a foundation that helps the poor, the sick and the abused?” Agatha chirped excitedly.

“Persuade me.” He vacillated, turning into a businessman.

“Fewer taxes for our luxurious lifestyle.” She grinned, knowing exactly how to convince him.

“Alright. What shall we call it?” He approached her, taking her hand in his and beginning to trace the veins in it.

“The Johnathan Harker foundation.” She joked, not believing he’d agree.

“Of course.” He turned the hand he was holding, admiring the lines on her palm.

She didn’t let him know he had surprised her and when he finally let her go she ordered, “Do clean your mess, tomorrow we’ll get someone to fix the window.”

“Wait, I have to tell the driver that’s his services are no longer needed.” He turned to grab his coat and when he had it on hand, put it on.

“There’s no need, you won’t find him.” The way she worded it and her tone told him she had probably scared the man into an early grave.

“Did you threaten him? Of course, you did, with what Agatha?” He chided, not knowing if they would have to travel everywhere on foot now.

“His head and anyone’s that took you to that ship, on a pike.” She commented casually, opened the door and left the room, with a dumbstruck Dracula inside, behind.

╌

Two weeks after, his window was still not completely fixed so he stayed in the room next to hers, she learned that he talked in his sleep occasionally and didn’t snore, that when he woke up his hair was a mess and the time it took him to truly be functional depended on what she wanted them to do.

To her annoyance, he took to spending time on her room before bedtime and when he was particularly bored he made her try on dresses and rearranged the books on her bookshelf by subject instead of author. She told him to stop but he still changed them when she put them back to her preferred order until she threatened to stop playing dress-up he reluctantly accepted to leave it alone.

They were going over the documents one night when he began one of his rants about how gifting people money was one of the dumbest things he had ever heard of and how he’d prefer to pay twice the amount of their taxes than become one of the founding fathers of socialism in England.

He proceeded to tell her that while King George the IV was an imbecile, he’d die soon with that diet of his, that he didn’t give him more than ten years on the Throne before his brother succeeded him. Her face grew redder with every point he made but she heard him go at it for half an hour before snapping.

“Then create jobs, encourage medical research, give emotionally devastated people a safe place to heal and teach them how to be functional again!” He stopped cold in his tracks, righted his clothes and continued to read the legal aspects they’d need to have their lawyers fill, like none of it ever happened.

Just the process of reading through all the requirements that came after that was tedious enough to bore them to tears. 

They took notes about the things they don’t fully understand, saved them for later when a representative of the Crown visited them and wrote just how many personal documents needed falsification and how many copies they’d need of each.

Calculated how much bribery it would take to have a spokesman convince a worker on the official offices do it so they were real except for the information on them, seizing the opportunity to make enough to last them for the next two lives.

She was about to take her hair out when he said it was time for a break and offered they play chess, she glowered at him as he smirked, made the counteroffer to play cards since she had an actual chance of winning there and raced him to the attic to get the deck.

He played dirty by tackling her midway through and rolling down the hallway they went, they crashed and broke a Ding Dynasty vase but that didn’t stop them, he began to tickle her and she couldn’t do anything but laugh and laugh and laugh when she decided it was his turn she rolled and straddled him under her, beginning an assault more powerful than the one he gave her.

His laugh was melodious, deep and beautiful, contagious, she would never get enough of it. Made it a resolution to make him laugh whenever possible, this stoic, sensual and exasperating man that turned her whole world upside down.

Since they didn’t need air the sound never stopped and it crossed her mind that perhaps it had been worth it, to become this, to find him; she wouldn’t forget how he did it, what he took away but she forgave him, found it easier to every day of her new life.

She stopped when she felt something hard against her leg and he realized what was happening; both their faces turned so red they looked like apples and they looked at anything but each other.

Agatha got off him and offered her hand to help him up, he took it and they continued their way to where the cards were.

That evening she beat him six out of ten times and rubbed it in his face as much as possible for the next five days.


	6. Their Now: Year One Part Two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: YOU WANTED SMUT, HERE'S YOUR SMUT.

_THEIR NOW._

_YEAR ONE PART TWO._

Having anticipated the holidays Agatha pressured him, so they fed enough in one sitting to last the whole month, took it upon herself to find a bunch of people that the world could do without. It proved to be difficult to find, a group large enough that committed crimes so atrocious that they didn’t deserve to go home to their wives and children.

She was giving up hope when her weekly meeting came; Her acquaintances didn’t disappoint, those women possessed loose tongues and they gave her the answer without her asking to, by the time they finished talking she felt like vomiting, like setting something on fire because the law protected people that should be in chains.

Thirty animals that kidnapped slaves to ship them back to the Americas and sold them there; elderly, women, children, babies, they didn’t discriminate, as long as they could make money off selling them to a new Master.

She told him what she had found, what they did for a living, how many women found themselves pregnant without having partners.

Their bond told her that his urge to skin them alive was great and she wanted to join him, to make them suffer and she would, she promised herself that. 

She calmed him by sitting on his lap and resting her head on his chest to hear the sound of his heart, he embraced her and asked her where they could find them, “The Obsidian Estate in Canterbury.” She responded.

Her last interaction with a driver had got them banned from any commercial carriage so they had to employ someone that worked solely for them and had not heard the rumours of the possessed Countess.

To their great luck, her charitable work had made the gentry dismiss the whispers as those of a drunk and a madman but the coachmen were still not sure.

Dracula found a boy that couldn’t be older than fifteen and had recently lost his whole family to pneumonia, named Jack Seward. The lad was too fond of his Bride for his liking but it was nothing subtle threats from his part couldn’t fix.

He got to see that repressed side of her on display once again; She was darkness incarnate, moving gracefully and silently like her body was nothing but smoke.

She took her time with them, made them beg and produced a whip from one of the few that tried to fight, lashed them to the bone while promising that if they didn’t scream she wouldn’t make it last for much, which was a lie.

He felt it in his blood, the need to let go, it overpowered his mind so he did, by the time they had finished with the first round twenty pairs of eyes stared into the void.

They were dirty, their clothes were ruined, the metallic smell of blood permeated the air, high on adrenaline and everything else.

They both couldn’t stop, though, her hands went to grab the sword that hanged in the wall, beheading some of them the same way inquisitors did to some seemingly corrupted Nuns, namely those that wouldn’t sleep with depraved priests, something she learned about in her travels.

Found that what they had gone through was not punishment enough, tearing the still alive one’s apart piece by piece.

Nothing more than ragdolls to her and in her frenzy she laughed, dangerous and mad; She was the living the picture of Lilith, the woman that left the garden of Eden because she would not bow to Adam and instead gave birth to creatures like them.

They became too far gone in their temporary madness to notice an oil lamp had caught one of the corpses on fire and he went to grab her when the smoke became too thick but she refused to leave and he had to drag her almost all the way out.

They woke up a few hours after the fact, laying on a stable that did not belong to them. The first thing they did was clean themselves as thoroughly as possible with the little water and the few rags they could find.

A small part of the house was still burning; Agatha proposed to find two undeads and dress them in the clothes they were wearing the night before because murder of this size couldn’t be labelled an accident. They didn’t have much time until people started to arrive.

Within the property’s cemetery, they found a man and a woman, he assumed they had been there for at least twenty years. She hoped they were the people that taught the owner of the house and the operation how to hate innocent people, hoped they had screamed themselves raw six feet underground.

He dug them out and exchanged clothes, it was one of the foulest things he ever had to do, it was an ill fit, it was barely less dirty than the ones they gave away and he preferred to go naked than use them but God save him she was right and they had no other available choice.

After staking the poor sods and carefully setting the scene they went to find Jack in Littleburry where they left him. It was his idea to give him enough coin so he could drink and whore himself a little too much, just enough so he forgot to ask if they enjoyed themselves, why were their clothes like this, failed to notice they weren’t just houses away from him as they said they’d be.

She protested at first, using his age and gentle nature as an excuse to protect him, “If you don’t want to have to eat him and manage the horses yourself, while I bask in the comfort of going inside, we’ll use my idea, my love.” She refused to talk to him on the way back.

The news hit London in record time, some people talked about how they had it coming, disobeying the Slave Trade Act of 1807 and others about how they didn’t deserve it, how parliament should have never allowed the subhumans to stop being sold.

He wanted to talk about what happened but she stopped him by raising her hand, he didn’t need to ask to know she didn’t regret it but saying it aloud was something she was not prepared to do, she didn’t need to ask to know that he didn’t regret it either. They saw the same memories after all.

╌

The snow started to fall slowly, gently, covering everything it touched and blessed it with its ethereal glow. There was hope in the air like the world had stopped with them, equals for a moment. It was a fragile harmony that would not last, that would break like all beautiful things were wont to do but in this moment it was whole and so were they.

Children laughed, dogs barked and there was a special warmth that protected the human race, dreams seemed close when the stars’ shone in the night and the people who had to say goodbye left in peace, waited for their loved ones before vanishing, death gifting them mercy in that.

She wanted to make up for lost time, so it didn’t come as a surprise to him when she asked for things to decorate the Manor. The next day she had twelve boxes waiting for her, he expected for the comment that as always he had gone too far but she just smiled and squeezed his hand for longer than necessary.

He refused to let her do it alone, so they dusted the house and accommodated the things inside the boxes in their free time. He robbed her of particular figurines to make the scene of a Noble Court celebrating in the Throne room, it wasn’t like the ones he lived through as a human but that of the reign of the Virgin Queen, whom he still considered one of his only friends.

When they finished he introduced her to the German tradition of the tree, per her request they looked for one that was not as big as he originally wanted. He was about to cut it down when she took the axe from his hands and did it herself, it took her no more than fifteen minutes to have it down and they both dragged it back inside.

Agatha pestered him to start with it that same instant and he tried to make her understand that they didn’t have ornaments or bows or anything to set it up but she was relentless, as always, to have her way.

She ambushed him on the library; How she managed to pull it off was still a mystery to him, perhaps he really was getting old even by Vampire standards. He refused to consider the option that he had let himself forget of all his military training or that she was simply too smart for him.

She fell from the ceiling like a spider would, landing on top of him and holding on like a monkey, it was the most childish thing he had seen her do so far but he still restrained himself while fighting back. For all that she was strong, he was stronger on the biology of his body alone, he didn’t want to hurt her even by accident.

She was fast, faster than he expected her to be and managed to get him flustered enough to take from him his favourite ring, he mused, that she did this to hide it somewhere he could not find to blackmail him into submission but in her haste to get away she had broken his hand with her foot.

He was angry, unbelievably so and now it was him that refused to talk to her and who was locking himself in his room. She felt it in their shared blood, that she had gone too far this time and left him to himself without insisting as she would have if he were only annoyed.

What he didn’t know was that she fell asleep holding his cloak, thinking she had ruined the best thing that had happened to her.

At noon on the twenty-fourth, he knocked on her door and the first thing he noticed was the darkened skin of her under eyes, how she was just dressed in her camisole when she had never done anything with it but sleep.

The moment she saw him she launched herself into his arms, clinging on like she was drowning all of this time like he was still just a fabrication of her visions and time had run out. It still managed to surprise him, how the day he met her was just like any for him and how for her it was the culmination of her life’s work.

If he were human she would have knocked the air out of his lungs and pushed them both to the floor, but since he was not he embraced her while she rested her chin on his shoulder, “I’m so sorry, I went too far. I shouldn’t have insisted; I broke your hand. I thought you’d hate me- “

He caressed her cheek with his thumb, shushed her and offered her his hand before she took it she gave him his ring back and proceeded to follow him in complete silence, the sound of their steps non-existent as always.

The scene that awaited her made her heart almost leap out of her chest, “I know it’s a little crooked, but Jack is not that good at following instructions and there’s only so many times I can threaten him before he quits- “

He turned to look at her, his smile so beautiful but then he saw her face, her expression and it evaporated so fast it might have never been there at all, “I’ll have it taken down this moment, we were lacking logs for the chimney anyway- “

“No! No! _No!_ ” She fretted, motioning with her hands her horror with the idea.

“But you look like- l…” He lamented.

“It was because no one’s ever done something so _precious_ for me.” She beamed.

“Oh.” He spluttered, rocking on his heels.

She advanced towards him and took his hands on her own, “Thank you.”

When she launched herself into his arms again, he spun her around. It was perfect then, everything. The world finally made sense to both of them.

He put her down and from under the tree he produced a box, where there was an ornament of a mermaid, she took it and placed it on the tree. It was a piece of art; she could see every scale, but it was important to her solely based on that he chose it, that he still fulfilled her wish.

He gave her everything she wanted when the only thing she needed was him.

What they had didn’t need a label, an explanation, it just was. As natural as the waves in the ocean.

She kissed his cheek as thanks and retired to change in her room.

The Countess took out the nicest dress she had, struggled to put it on because it was unnecessarily complicated, but God had decided to humour them for it was red.

Took out of her vanity the ring he gave her on the Demeter, placed it on the finger it should have always been on. It meant so many things now, all different, exciting and some tangible.

Agatha understood now, that those dreams were not something to be investigated and taken apart, they were clues that would make them meet halfway through.

When she came down she took more time to admire the tree he designed, it was one of the most stunning things she had seen all her life and he did it just for her, even when she didn’t heed his 'No'.

She was right to look for him, he made her whole, happier than anyone ever could, she knew not if it was yet love, she hadn’t had a family to show her what it looked like, had followed the rules of the church too closely for the sake of a roof and information but she liked to think she would know when the time came.

She had things to do in the charities she was a part of so she left him a note in his study, where he spent his time doing research and making sure their every need was met, that they had enough to last them the next hundred years.

He had commissioned a special umbrella for each of them, so they were not limited to the house in the daytime, it had made their life so easy that he often said he’d rather go poor than lose it. She knew he was lying in that but shared the sentiment somewhat.

To the people who asked they told it was the latest fashion in France and they all took to imitating it, it was also tradition that proper ladies kept themselves as fair as possible, stupid as that was.

When she came back he was waiting for her, relaxing on the couch in front of the fire, “I’ve come to learn that you possess even less patience than I, so I have your gift right here.” She took it from him, tore the wrapping paper to find a face that she had begun to forget staring back at her; it was a portrait of Father Kire, the man that truly brought them together, that was her father in almost every sense of the word.

She could never properly tell him what this meant to her so she did the only thing she could think of, sat on his lap and kissed him, hoping it could express all she couldn’t say.

Dracula was shaken by what she had done, he was staring at her like she was the finest thing he had known, no matter than he’d never known anything but finery in his life.

When she met his eyes the feeling of rightness that rose on her chest was nothing like she had ever known before.

His large hands cupped her cheeks as he kissed her back, his tongue parted her lips and when she gasped he seized the opportunity to insert it on her mouth, taking control with a skill she’d rather ignore how he got.

He stopped and when she was about to complain he carried her as grooms do their brides, took her to the master bedroom, sat her in the edge of his, no, their bed and looked at her eyes.

They fit just right, him and her like they were made to be together by someone who knew what they were doing, he might just begin to believe in God after all this.

Her brunette locks framed her face like a halo but she was no saint he knew, thanked whatever was out there that she wasn’t. He kissed her again, turning more frenzied and he pushed her back into the feather mattress.

Nimble fingers divested her of the dress and shift that covered her body from him and with shaking hands she returned the favour. She was laying on the finest furs she had ever touched when he stood back to stared at what was now his, allowing her to see what was now hers.

He was hard, from the looks of it painfully so, his member so red that it was almost purple. She bit her lips and rubbed her legs together in anticipation, Agatha had been wet from the moment their lips first touched, all she had been reduced to was wanting him exactly how he was, proud and so very close to her.

“My Prince…” She whispered and it brought him back to her, his pupils were so dilated in his eyes she saw nothing but black.

“My Queen...” He responded when he was finally on top of her.

His hands were everywhere now, teasing her nipples with his hands as he latched to the scar on her neck like a man possessed. She would have a mark when they finished she knew but she didn’t care at all.

The last of her virgin pureness left as she moaned when he got her buds perfectly hard, crossing her arms around his neck because she needed something to remind her he was a man of flesh and not the result of the best dream she would ever have.

He purred like a kitten when she played with the hairs of his neck, groaned when Agatha decided it was not enough and scratched him with long nails.

She felt his member on her stomach more keenly now, needed him as badly as her body needed the blood that kept them alive.

Her left hand guided his eyes to meet hers, his hand rose to meet it and the moment the felt the sapphire on her finger he rested his forehead against hers.

His hand left hers to guide his penis into her and she opened her legs wide for him, the moment her barrier was ripped he froze and stopped without her asking to, her walls ached but not as badly as she would have thought. Dracula whispered sweet nothings to her while they waited, her vast wetness had made it so that it faded after a few minutes and she murmured in his ear to continue.

He started moving tortuously slowly, continued doing so, only increasing his pace when her moans became louder, he brought her to the edge time and time again, until her only option was to bite him, after which he became rough and it was the best bloody thing in the world.

His eyes had never left hers since he penetrated her and that made what was happening ten, twenty times more intense, he grunted with the effort of manoeuvring himself while not crushing her smaller frame and when she finally came she screamed the loudest she ever had.

The only word she knew was his name, which she whispered with the same devotion the Pope that lived in Rome did that of God.

He pounded a few more times into her wet heat whilst saying her name like a prayer when his seed filled her he groaned so loudly she hoped no one was close, for surely they could hear them three miles away. 

Her walls milked him dry, his cum had mixed with her blood and they both dripped down her legs but she didn’t mind at all, had never minded anything less in her whole life. “I would have _never_ become a Nun if I knew it could be like this.”

“Then we wouldn’t have found each other.” He breathed.

They were not done, they both knew, so he laid down and put her on top. She had no idea how he was hard again this fast but as long as he was inside her again within the next minutes it was none of her business to ask. He told her what to do, to lift herself a little while guided himself back into her. “You’re going to kill me.”

She moaned harder than ever before during the short process, all sensitive nerves and pleasure, savouring this new angle that was making her feel so many things. He guided her hips with his hands and taught her how to ride him, up and down, back and forth.

It was an instinct to clench her walls when he entered her on the down but the sound that left him was so euphoric she did it every time after and it was not long before the fire burned bright again.

They quickened their pace and he began to thrust harder, she kissed him, not wanting there to be any space between them. They were delirious in their bliss, more complete than ever before, they came at the same time, saying the name of the other.

He rolled to the side as to not crush her and embraced her, knowing he would spend the rest of his life protecting her, cherishing her, loving her.

Dracula no longer feared dead, feared nothing as long as she was by his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note 2: It is with a heavy heart that I say this- my bunny is no longer with me, he passed away this morning, how he lived, in my arms. 
> 
> He was my greatest love; I can't go to school right now because I have major anxiety, depression, ptsd, and bpd, as a result of a life of endless abuse and tragedy. 
> 
> He was given to me after two of my best loved family members both passed away in front of my eyes on my birthday. My loss is great and deep, but I have decided to turn, as Carrie Fisher told Meryl Streep, my pain into art.
> 
> I will continue this fanfic because I owe it to everyone that has read, left kudos, commented, etc. I owe it to my family, but most importantly, to myself to learn how to heal in a non toxic way. 
> 
> Don't worry, I do this because I want to, (!!!) because I know stories are well loved for their ability to teach us how to go on when we've lost too much, because I know in my bones that everyone has a fictional story that has saved them.
> 
> I want to save myself, I want my life and my dreams back and this, however pathetic it sounds, is my first step in taking back what was never anyone's to break, even if they did.


	7. Their Now: Year One Part Three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: You don't get much Dracula/Agatha here but I SWEAR it's for good reason.
> 
> Lynching an Author while they have a work in progress is HEAVILY frowned upon, remember kids.
> 
> If you can guess where I got Vanessa and the other easter egg from, in this chapter correctly, the FIRST person to comment it gets a one-shot of anything they want as long as it's Dracula/Agatha related. 
> 
> I need the name of the source material for both, and Her full name. That's all it takes.
> 
> Let the Hunger Games begin and may the odds be ever in your favour.

_THEIR NOW._

_YEAR ONE PART THREE._

She was a shadow now, so immersed in the darkness she didn’t recognise the woman in the mirror; her cheekbones were sharp, her face gaunt, the body that supported her had almost no fat, only prominent bones.

She returned home from that nightmare to a dead father and large inheritance, tried to honour the memory of Johnny by creating something worthy of his name and his lost soul but she was too late. There already was a Johnathan Harker foundation in the works, they told her, under the name of the man that took the life and sanity off the man she loved so cruelly.

It was a mockery, a cruel joke, that after everything he took he hadn’t left her even this.

She tried to go back to the person she once was but she couldn’t find her anymore, no more Mina Murray, the only thing left was a creature that existed on rage and poison alone.

Her house was much too big for a single person alone so she decided to sell it in the near future, along with all the memories it held; Vanessa and her brother, the three growing up together, waiting for her father to return from looking for the start of the Nile. They were ghosts too now and she found a new one in every corner.

She was starting to pack when she saw her again, her soul’s sister, “Vanessa!” She wailed, running towards the first person that Death had taken away from her.

The moment she touched her she was gone, but it didn’t deter her, she looked for her, gathering her skirts in one hand running from one room to the other.

“Come back! Please! _COME BACK!_ ” Mina bawled, then remembered, the promise they made that night when they cut their palms and tried to unite their lives through blood.

Her boots were loud against the wood as she made her way to the dining room; She grabbed a candelabra, running down the stairs of the basement and brutally swinging it against the padlock that prevented her from opening the hidden door.

She coughed when the dirt first hit her face and every time after but she would meet her friend even if she had to burn it down.

When it gave away she crawled through the underground tunnel until it led her to their secret garden, her dress was torn and dirty by the time she finally saw the light.

The grass was overgrown and the roses had died, it was nothing like the oasis she remembered but she was not the same girl that left this place two years ago to never look back, so as always, they both fit.

She tore the thorn filled vines that covered the place where the treasure they had buried was and tears left her eyes as they cut her, deep and open, she didn’t let it stop her, though.

The blonde began digging after clearing the spot, her nails broke but nothing mattered more than getting it back, she unearthed the locket and opened it to find that the picture of them together remained untouched.

She couldn’t help the scream that came out of her mouth; It was raw, guttural like someone was killing her but that was exactly how she felt like she was dying and there was no one left in the world to help her stop it.

She screamed until her throat didn’t let her anymore.

In her mind’s eye she could see with perfect clarity the moment they buried it, it was humid that day and the braids their maids spent so much time doing didn’t last, yet she kept hers up even after Vanessa teased her about how compliant to everything she always was.

“You’ve grown out of it.” Vanessa sighed.

Mina opened her eyes to the disembodied body of her sister, she remained as perfectly beautiful as before the sea took her too far for them to save her, “Vanessa… Are you real? Has pain made me go insane?”

“Insane? We all are, if only a little. No, you’re perfectly fine… in that aspect.” The ghost crutched down in front of her, cleaning her tears with her black sleeve, “How long have I been dead, my dearest Mina?”

“Two very long years. What are you doing here?” She denounced.

“I promised to protect and love you many times, it is my understanding that as long as they’re honestly meant promises follow you past the grave.” The brunette defended, taking the locket from her hands and fastening the chain around her neck, “I’m here to protect you from yourself.”

“A monster’s taken Johnny were I couldn’t follow. Is he with you? Are Papa, Mama and Frederick there?” Mina pleaded, her voice as strong as a child’s.

“They are; They have not come because they knew I’m the only one that could put sense back into your pretty little head.” She brushed her dirty locks with her fingers.

“You want to kill him, the Count.” She said casually.

“Of course I do! He’s a demon, a monster, the Devil! I’ll burn down London if I have to!” She griped, turning to look at the blue eyes that looked so much like hers.

“You have to understand. I beg you.”

“I do but it won’t work, the Fates have decided his story won’t end for another nine hundred years. Don’t you see it? That anger, that poison in your veins, it’s killing you! Look at yourself, Mina!” Vanessa snapped, stood up, motioned at her decaying body and mind, “You’ll only get yourself killed if you go there alone!”

The blonde stood up too and began pacing, “That’s it! I won’t go alone! Papa’s friend, the Cardinal, I could go to him or better yet to the Pope. A Catholic Nun, Agatha, saved my life and she knew! They surely know much more than her, I’ll go, it won’t be easy but- “

“Stop, you have to- “

“ _DO NOT TELL ME WHAT TO DO!”_ Snarled Mina, with a viciousness she hadn’t known in her mortal life the girl to possess.

“Take your Fates and prophecies and fuck off. You’re not Vanessa, she’d never tell me to stop fighting, you’re a cheap production of her but I don’t care about the madness as long as I get my revenge." She pressed her nails sharply against her open cuts, wanting a tangible thing that equated, if only a little, the pain she felt in her soul, "Want to know how I know? The dead don’t talk. She is _dead_ and _gone_ like _everyone else_.”

She yanked the locket off her neck with her right hand, tossed it to the ground and kicked the gated door open with her boot, leaving the two she had so dearly loved behind.

“…What were you letting yourself become?” Mourned the spirit.

Taking the locket, she disappeared into the mist.

╌

She took a ship to Italy, paid every ticket off in the small vessel because she could and because she wanted to be alone.

Her skin easily bruised now, the touch of the bedsheets left dark spots that took too much time to heal and she rarely ate except for the times the Captain insisted on her having dinner with him. 

When she didn’t bleed five days into the trip, she realized that it was increasingly difficult to get out of bed, that it went on for the majority of the day every day.

The madness came back, mercifully enough. In her dreams and she saw her again, all beauty, mischief and underlying darkness like she was back in life but their argument never stopped for her so she ignored her as she pleaded for her to go back home, to stop the slaughter she had created.

She became good at it, in believing in things that were not there.

In the water, she saw the trips they took, Johnny and her, when they were first courting, how the fish were so colourful and vast, how he gave her the prettiest seashell he could find every time they went back.

She saw her brother again; his neck was untouched like he never put a rope to it after they buried Vanessa and he decided he couldn’t live where she no longer was.

He told her the same jokes that always made her laugh, made her remember how Christmas never had a real date but that of when Papa came back home and she allowed herself to be little again, just the three of them running through the garden that gave way to the beach.

Mina never wanted to wake up again.

And she tried to do just that, to live where everything she ever loved was still close, where she was not the last of her line and it worked. For a while.

They taught her to laugh again, how it sounded when it came from her lungs, from theirs and the sun illuminated them, the air was light and for the first time in two years, everything was alright.

Until it took her back to the day that Death took half of her heart away and never saw it fit to give it back.

_╶_

_They were swimming peacefully when Vanessa splashed her, “Can’t you stay still for five minutes?!” Mina accused, to which the girl responded by splashing her again._

_“Catch me!” She intoned and swam further away from shore._

_Tired of her antics the blonde stayed where she was, missing the moment the water further away from land became aggressive and dragged her sister with it away, incapable to scream for help._

_She turned to look for her when the sun receded half an hour later but by then she was long gone._

_When she couldn’t find her and panic rose in her chest like acid, she swam and swam until she couldn’t and took off running to her house instead. She found her Mother deep in conversation with the butler and interrupted by grabbing her arm and keeping it in a tight grip._

_Just when the woman was about to scold the teenager she noticed the fear in her eyes, like she had seen a monster, “What’s wrong, Mina?” She asked, getting no other response than the tears that left her blue eyes and the violent shaking of her body._

_“Mina, what’s happened?” She cried, desperate to know what could possibly hurt her so._

_“She is gone.” The girl whispered._

_It was all the matriarch needed to know; She went for the door that connected both mansions and ran into the other house, her good friend was about to offer her tea like the one she was sipping when she took note of the expression on her chubby face, “What’s happened, Lisa?”_

_“The sea. Vanessa. We have to hurry.” Was the only thing that left her mouth before she took running off towards the sand._

_The cup fell from her hands and shattered when it hit the floor, she took off after Lisa and caught up with her quickly. They arrived at the beach to find her servants with lanterns, already looking for her missing daughter, the sand infiltrated her boots with amazing speed but she couldn’t bring herself to complain as she normally would._

_The only thing that mattered was her daughter, finding her._

_Both families searched high and low for the next two days but by the third day, her lifeless body was washed in by the same water that took her. Anna collapsed at the sight, a screaming and crying mess, while Lisa held her and cried with her for the daughter they both had lost._

_Mina approached the body first, made brave by the urge to prove herself wrong, to prove she was not dead but what she found was a corpse that had the face of who she loved most._

_She closed her eyes and cradled it in her arms, rocking her, begging her to come back because she didn’t know if she would be able to live without her but her mouth never opened to talk back, to reassure her that they would die together as planned, as old ladies that got into much trouble for their age._

_When her father came to drag her away from Vanessa she refused and screamed as he took her back inside, “She needs me! She needs me!” She repeated again and again, desperate._

_“We promised to die together but if God has taken her, He has to take me too!” She shrieked against his chest when he embraced her._

_Frederick and she cried themselves to sleep that night, holding each other close in a failed attempt to keep themselves from breaking._

_The time came to bury her and when Anna whispered in her ear that she would always be the person her daughter loved most and that it was not her fault, they both held each other in a suffocating hug._

_Little did she know when she took her leave that it was farewell forever._

_That night every physical door that connected them in life was locked with a padlock and two old friends threw the keys together into the sea, saying goodbye afterwards and telling the other how much they had loved each other for the last time, knowing in their souls they would never see each other again in their mortal lives._

_Mina saw it happen from her window._

_╶_

She woke and vomited, Vanessa held her hair back while the process lasted and any remaining anger was forgotten because she had been given a second chance.

She hugged her for the first time since the beach and let all the poison that had mounted up with her losses leave her body. She was as tangible and cold as she always had in life, smelled like vanilla even, “I _never_ left you. Never will. I love you.”

She started hiccupping as the lay together on the bed. “It wasn’t your fault, Mina, losing us. You’re a good person and the world has taken too much... I promise you it plans on giving back”

She nodded, “The Cardinal and his men are on their way to England.”

“I know… You have to help Agatha keep her dream, my dearest, she has waited too long.” She was about to open her mouth to complain that she was dead but Vanessa stopped her. “He Turned her.”

“Is he good to her?” She hesitated, biting her lip.

“A perfect gentleman. He loves her more than anything, you see.” That made up her mind.

“I will fix it, I promise.”

It was time for her to leave then.

“I love you, I love you. Please wait for me, Vanessa.” She repeated as she saw her fade into a golden mist.

“I would wait all eternity for you, my dearest Mina.”

The locket materialized in her hand.

It would take them three weeks to go back, but she used the time to get better, to gain the weight she lost back and to appreciate the gifts she had been given for all her suffering.

She slept less and never failed to leave her cabin after waking up, the sea tranquil and nice, carrying them safely to where she needed to be.

The Captain and her took to spending much time together, he listened to her tale when they became close enough and never once told her she was insane.

He told her his youngest brother married a Queen that created ice and snow with her hands and she believed him, told her his family name afterwards but she already knew. A Westergaard.

Everyone knew about the tale of the wicked Prince from the Southern Isles and the Ice Queen; how she and her sister forgave him with time, how she made him human again, ridding him of the monster inside.

How they married five years after his attempt to overtake the Arendellian throne.

He told her about his life back at home, too, a grim tale that had made him and three others abdicate their tiles.

She told him about Vanessa and her brother, how they grew up together and became attached at the hip, how they were lost to her until she found the locket that now hung from her neck.

How that gave her the strength to go on, how she wanted revenge for what he did and had endangered them by telling the Church, how the pain almost made her die and how she almost let herself turn into a monster, how she planned to fix it.

After their first kiss, he whispered against her lips, that nothing would ever be her alone again.

One day she’d tell him how Vanessa saved her, as she promised to do.

╌

They spent the next three months barely leaving the bed, tangled in a mess of limbs.

He learned about the softness of her skin, she learned about the coarseness of his body hair, about the sounds that each made when they were too close to the edge, which they fell from time and time again.

He had many scars, she only had two. Agatha kissed them all, relieved that nothing could brand him anymore.

His tales about war were exaggerated and they made her laugh but the rare times he was serious about them, his voice was shaky as he relieved his time on the battlefield. He told her every detail he remembered, how he got each scar and how many of them could have ended his life.

Confided in her that he didn’t feel anything when leaving the Crown, that the only constant that came with it was suffering, uncertainness, betrayal and in his kingdom’s case, bloody, endless war.

She didn’t yet talk about Carmilla, never found occasion for it, for her to comfortably open up about the visions.

He didn’t tell her about his daughter, the one she named after her, about how when he found her body, her throat slit, he drank himself sick and mourned for the girl he never knew.

Instead, she told him of the people she met and the places she saw, he commented here and there that some of them would make for a good dinner and she only chuckled.

Told him how all the oldest Church’s successfully came together to keep so many secrets in the dark, how they had infiltrated every single government to deal with the politicians that would use it to change things that could not change.

It came to her in that conversation that he lived through the inquisition and came out unscathed, “Bribed several Popes, threatened some Cardinals, stayed away from Spain.” Was the only thing he had to say about it.

He told her about killing Mozart, how he couldn’t stop himself from playing the violin for months afterwards and how he came to hate it as much as poetry but they had neglected the outside world for long enough and its’ warning came when a message arrived at their door about her compromised position and where they needed her to help tomorrow if she wanted to be welcomed back.

She had her things moved into the master bedroom that night. Agatha was getting ready to go back to the world the next morning when he hugged her from behind, “The Foundation is almost approved, stay.” He whispered into her ear seductively, sending a pleasant chill down her spine.

“Keyword, almost and I’ll be back by sunset, don’t be a glutton.” She huffed, fixing her hair in the mirror.

“What’s one more sin?” He grumbled, kissing her neck.

“I’m serious.” She piped, while he sat on the edge of the bed, then she turned to look at his naked body.

“Look at that, your belly is almost flat again, a miracle!” She giggled.

He groaned, covering himself up with the sheets, finally letting her go.

But when midnight came she still hadn’t come back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note 2: I'm thinking of adding "Their Forever" to the parts as a multi chaptered epilogue, opposed to the one chapter one I planned on giving you. As always, the decision is your to make, so leave your thought in the comments.
> 
> To everyone that gave me their condolences about my bunny in the last chapter; you have my ETERNAL gratitude. Everyone was so respectful and understanding about how DEEP the pain I feel is, no one made it seem like it was making much out of nothing. The internet can be vicious but YOU chose not to be. I hope, from the bottom of my heart, that people treat you the same way when the time for you to mourn someone/something so important comes, because it will, no matter how badly we want to stop it from happening.


	8. Their Now: Year One Part Four.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: My mum's grandfather is living the last moments of his life right now, I will grieve not for him but my family needs me to be there as they have always been for me. I don't know if I'll be able to write daily after tomorrow.
> 
> It's my deepest wish for there to still be interest in this fanfic when I come back, I hope I've done a good enough job for that to happen.
> 
> The winner of the one shot is: @emicmc.
> 
> This is the last part of Their Now: Year One.

_THEIR NOW._

_YEAR ONE PART FOUR._

She arrived to the house in Belsize park that was mentioned in the paper with five minutes to spare; she had learned this past year how the British hated people arriving either early or late, so she decided to use the time to appreciate this dump of a house.

Now, she knew all the women she was acquaintances with to be filthy rich, so the change in scenery told her right away that there was a problem, this was not a fabrication of any of her groups.

Someone had gone through all the trouble to lure her out from her residence in Hyde park and acquire this house, that however run down it was, the price range was still too much for a normal person to have the money to spare on location alone. 

Which meant the people inside were powerful enough to have the means, those two things told her they wouldn’t let her go without a fight and she’d rather know who she was facing than making a run for it.

She took the sapphire off her finger, knowing that if it involved her it most certainly involved him and pocketed it, her resolve grew as she waited for the time to come, _"I am the Bride of the Prince of Vampires, simple mortals do not scare me."_ She thought before knocking on the door.

The face of a smiling wrinkled man greeted her and the uniform alone told her it was a Cardinal she was speaking to, “Sister Agatha, how nice to finally meet you.”

“Not so much a Nun anymore... It seems you’ve left me with a disadvantage, I do not know your name, sir.” She coaxed.

“Oh yes, how very rude of me. Cardinal Acker, at your service.” She heard it before it happened, how several men were approaching her from behind, she waited until they threatened her with their stakes at her back.

“Now Mina Murray, the daughter of a late, dear friend of mine, God rest his soul, has told me a most interesting tale, which of course, could be easily confirmed when our Curators cleaned the stain of the Devil from a convent in Budapest, finding one of the Nuns, Sister Marissa, still alive.” She took a sharp breath when he said it, alive, after what happened… how cruel could God be to some people.

“You see, she was most talkative in her last moments before we had to kill the monstrosity she became, ‘Dracula, Dracula,’ was the only thing she said, over and over but we just assumed a normal undead had gone on a rampage.” He gave a dramatic pause to his speech and she had to stop herself from rolling her eyes.

“Until the letter. It is our understanding that you have been Turned but young, traumatized girls make for poor sources in some aspects. The weaknesses of the fairer sex.” The Cardinal had the nerve to chuckle at his remark.

“Nonetheless, we proceed. Agatha Van Helsing, you are most unwelcome in this house.” She tilted her head to the side, not letting them know she feared where this was going.

“Go on, prove us wrong, then. There might be hope for you still, child.” He assured her.

She waited for it, for the barrier, for anything but when right foot trespassed the property nothing was there to stop her, “How delightful.”

She followed him deeper inside, counted twenty of his lackeys with the ones that tried to ambush her, bit her lower lip to stop herself from doing something idiotic when she heard his voice again, “You’re not yet in the clear, I’m afraid.”

With that he opened a latch on the floor, leading to an underground room, it was huge, dimly lit, with a lone table and two chairs in the middle, he invited her to sit and she complied, however much she’d rather spit on his face.

He produced from one of the boys a small, red velvet bag and handed it to her, “It was recovered from your laboratory recently; you seem to have forgotten it.”

She took from it what felt like a chain and opened her fist to find Father Kire’s cross. It did nothing to her. She held it against the light to admire it, beautifully made, with roses that grew from the centre, she had missed it very much indeed, “Wonderful, it seems he’s kept you pure.”

He rose from his seat and took a blade to his hand, much like she done so many moons ago, while another put a goblet under it, so the blood would drip in.

She was _fucked_ ; it wouldn’t take her much to kill everyone in this room but they wouldn’t die without screaming, the ones upstairs all had stakes and she was fast but not that fast even as a creature of the night. She truly was doomed. She should have learned to call on the bats and the wolves, _shit_.

She was counting the moments to begin her attack when he slid it to her but, of course, they all had pulled out stakes out of nowhere, “Your last test. Drink.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck _, fuck._

She did it, but when it came close enough to her lips it didn’t smell right and her fangs were nowhere to be found, she downed it all on one sip to find herself choking and vomiting immediately after. There was something wrong with it, awfully wrong with it, she could see it in her mind’s eye, the rotten thing inside him.

He was _clapping_ , like she was a dog that had pleased its master, she was going to enjoy murdering him so much but not before he told her the whole plan, because if the knowledge had reached Rome then there was nowhere left for them to hide and they’d have to fight. 

He gave her a handkerchief to clean herself with and she took it, “That proves it then, you’re still human. Tell me, why has he kept you so? Does he experiment on you? Miss Murray said her late fiancé had found proof of his desire for reproduction.”

That was it, her way out, she would play the Princess and he the Knight, she would use him underestimating her to milk the information out, “Are you asking if he rapes me?”

“Such coarse terms, my dear, I suppose you’ve acquired it from him, with a month to a year of you being his prisoner but yes, that is exactly what I’m asking.” He answered.

Agatha summoned tears to her eyes with ease, one of the perks of the control she had over her body, within a minute she was full-on sobbing, wailing like the broken thing he wanted her to be, “He’s a monster, the Devil incarnate, please, you have to stop him! I have tried to remain worthy of God, with the charities and all, I-”

“And you have done a very good job, God still loves you. We will stop him I promise you so.” He put a condescending hand in her shoulder like he was trying to comfort her. She was going to sever that one out first.

“Has the knowledge reached his Holiness, good sir?” She encouraged her voice a pathetic submissive thing.

“His Holiness is a busy man.” He seethed like he’d be a better fit for the job, “So no.”

“How will you stop him then? Did you see what he did at the convent?” She implored.

“I have seventy faithful men at my disposal but most importantly you.” A trap then. He wouldn’t let her go.

“You must have faith, Agatha, that your suffering has come to an end.”

The only thing she had faith in was Dracula tearing every single one of his cronies’ apart piece by piece, saving him for last so they could both teach him some manners.

The vicious voice in her mind came out to play and whispered; _“He is nought but one, they are seventy-one, all armed.”_

 _“He has me.”_ She hissed back.

╌

Two hours after the time she said she’d be home he began to grow restless but he reminded himself that she was capable of taking care of herself just fine, remembered himself of that untamed darkness in her and shuddered. Yes, she was certainly capable of doing so.

Midnight came too soon for his liking and he sank deeper into the treacherous thing that was his despair, he was two breaths away from killing every single person in the city when he heard a knock at the front door. He opened it thinking it was Agatha on the other side who he’d find but it was none other than Johnny’s fiancée.

“You look dreadful but I have something to do and entertaining visitors sounds rather wretched right now.” He was about to slam the door on her face when she cried out, “I know where Agatha is!”

He paused and ushered her and the ginger boy inside, “Where is she?”

“Well, it all started when I came back to England to find- “ He lifted her with his hand, choking her. Her companion raised a sable at him but he was in no mood tonight and with his other hand he put him up too.

“I want you to listen closely, I have very little patience for stupidity on a good day but Agatha’s missing if what you’ve told me is correct, if you waste the time I could have spent looking for her, I’ll kill you both rather gruesomely.” At the last word, he dropped them and they made a heavy _‘thud’_ when they hit the floor.

Mina was the first to rise again, she massaged her throat before speaking, “Cardinal Acker has her, she is to be used as a trap to lure you in so he may kill you. He knows you Turned her.”

“A Cardinal? I assume you told him of the events on Budapest.” She nodded her head while biting her lip.

“Why do you waste your 'oh so precious time' in pointing out the obvious? Are you not worried about her?” Mina groused.

“You care about my reaction? How lovely. I am not worried about her, she could kill twenty men by herself easily while wounded. I’ve seen it.” He jested but the girl raised her chin defiantly.

“He has seventy, with stakes.” She provoked.

“That’s… a problem. I assume you’re here to help since I manage to outrage you with every comment I make and yet you don’t leave.” He looked them both up and down, deciding their person alone would not do, “Come, you have no outstanding abilities, you need weapons.”

He led them through the hallways to the armoury, opening the heavy oak doors with such ease he might have been opening the lid of a book.

Inside were weapons of all uses and sizes, the ones he had acquired and the ones he had stolen, all of them were sharp enough to serve an executioner, so he let them take their pick of anything they wanted.

He hoped they managed to wield them long enough for him to call on the bats and the wolves to him but if they died before the animals arrived he wouldn’t be particularly bothered.

Anksel, after picking a crossbow and a long sword, attaching the first to his back and the other to his hip, approached Dracula, the man he had heard so much about and previous to this night always thought of only as a beast, “How do you manage to be so calm? How were you so sure you’ll save her?”

The Count ran an exasperated hand through his face, sighing loudly because of the dim-witted boy and his questions, looking at him, pupils slightly red, thinking of how he preferred smart and brave Johnny, “I’m a four-hundred-year-old warlord and a Vampire, do you honestly believe I’ve not faced worse odds?”

Picking up the sword he got on his Coronation day, he used it to point at the blonde, “Do yourself a favour and stop underestimating women, it has almost gotten me killed on several occasions.”

“We have four hours until sunrise, let’s go!”

╌

They arrived to a hovel of a Manor with a black façade, “Atheists are much more common than I thought if they’ve reduced the Catholics to _this._ ” He said, glaring at Anksel when he snickered into his hand, unsuccessfully hiding his amusement, Mina tried to cover hers by feigning a cough but he just scowled, unable to kill them without Agatha lecturing him about it for months.

He put his sword to the girl’s throat when the door opened and his Excellency greeted him, thank God that her lover got the message and pointed the crossbow at him half-heartedly, “You’ve arrived early and this is Britain.” Glowered the man.

“If you don’t want her dead at your feet you’ll give me my Bride.” He pressed the blade closer without drawing blood.

His men began to circle him and he growled, his fangs on full display, eyes red and sharp claws, a reminder of just how dangerous it was to play his game.

He made a show of it, of scaring them and for how brave they were a few of them gripped their stakes more loosely, reading themselves to run in case what they had wasn’t enough, “Were she a Vampire, I’d stake her before you but as a messenger of God I’m tasked with protecting the faithful.”

The Cardinal was playing with the Count but every second that passed was one where his control may slip and Mina may pay the price.

He didn’t want to betray her trust and when he was about to do that a female voice whispered in his ear; _“Break the tip of the arrow, point it at his back. When you’re both safe inside the room help her with the lock.”_

The former Prince did just that and he pointed at his back, leaving his many questions for later, “Let her go.”

He rolled his eyes and did as he was told, they both tumbled their way back inside, the doors closing after them and he was left outside, planning his next move.

They were too armed for him to use his bare hands so the sword at his hip would have to do.

Dracula set himself sideways to his first opponent, who began his onslaught by using all his strength and lunging for him, he countered by stepping back at the right moment and amputating his limb, leaving him to fall the stone floor as he screamed.

Three leapt for him, their synchronisation was clumsy, probably their first fight; He beheaded the first, using his body as a shield to the attacks of the other two. They dashed for him, making high arcs with their arms to try and get him, he ducked and dodged until they left a break in their defence which he used to end them.

More barraged for him, trying to overwhelm and overpower him with their numbers, only to find he was a seasoned player. The men lashed out and parried but he evaded and fended them off, in response their hits became bolder, harsher, hacking and slashing for all they were worth.

The bats arrived first, saving him from a blow that would have hit him square in the chest, with their formation lost and they dispersed, he disembowelled and decimated the closest to him. Those that escaped his flying friends already had maimed spots, so he taunted them in their last moments before eviscerating them.

Some of the intelligent few left, predicting correctly that they had lost.

When he was done screaming and taunting about his success, the doors opened again to let out other forty men but he didn’t tire or hurt like their deceased companions; He was a creature of the dark, as sneaky and powerful as the shadows that cloaked him and he would teach them the extent of his anger, that taking from him what he loved had been their greatest and last mistake.

He gripped his sword tighter, encouraged by the howling of the arriving wolves.

_╶_

He had waited for the screams to subside and for those idiots to bring him Count Dracula but they never did. He heard his voice outside when he was done, at last, taunting him about his victory.

“Open the doors.” His Excellency spat to the nearest person.

The wolves still howled when the last man left the house and he Crossed himself before roughly grabbing her arm and yanking the two towards another underground room, he opened the metal trapdoor and locked them inside, hearing none of the words that left their mouths.

He made his way to where Agatha was for she was his last resort if the demon defeated his army.

“He locked us inside, the bastard.” Seethed Mina, “He knows he can’t come in without permission, he’ll probably kill her before fleeing.”

“And of course we can stop it.” He quipped.

“We can.” She said, taking a pin from her hair she began to mess with the lock, throwing her arms up in frustration when it refused to budge.

He took it from her and guided her hands through the movements he remembered, they heard a _‘click’_ that told them they had been successful and dashed outside.

He was done with the men and was waiting for them, his hands resting on the hilt of his weapon.

The scene outside was worse than the one she encountered in the Convent and it was her fault, her rage had made her selfish enough to avoid reason... These men had never stood a chance.

She grabbed Anskel’s hand for comfort, “Count Dracula, do come inside.”

He approached her slowly, bathed in blood, and patted her cheek tenderly, like he knew the pain inside her at seeing what she provoked, before leaving, reminding her much of her late father at that moment.

She’d learn to forgive herself for this too but at this moment she decided to feel the hurt, instead of bottling it up and letting it become poison like she would have once done; She mourned for the husbands that wouldn’t come home in the morning, for the children that’d never have the true reason for the body they buried, for how many stories ended, for all she had inadvertently taken.

_╶_

He plucked the door from the ground and the bars that appeared after descended the stairs with all the poise of the King he once was.

The man was holding a dagger against her throat and shaking like a child. “Is that the best you could do?” He said.

“Take one more step and I’ll cut her throat!” He shirked pathetically and Dracula did.

Her throat was slit and she clutched her wound, hissing, _“You asshole!”_ She cursed, rubbing the skin together to heal the cut.

She went to him and he took her hand, his fangs descended once again and his eyes went black, even the white parts, “You’ve just earned yourself a one-way ticket to Hell.”

“But she crossed inside without permission, saw a cross without flinching and drank my blood!” He whimpered.

“Vampire life has fewer limitations than I thought. Your blood is disgusting by the way and you’re dying, thankfully, that’s why I vomited.” She smirked sinisterly.

“What a revelation! We have to rob the British Museum now, they have many things of mine and they’re not keeping them anymore.” The Count smirked, “Later, first we have to kill you.”

“Wait! He’s particularly nasty, let’s rather put him on bedlam. You can create illusions without drinking their blood, correct?” Agatha simpered.

“As you wish.” He resounded.

“A Vampire Lord taking ideas from a woman?!” The old man screamed.

He pointed the sword at his neck, resting the tip against his Adam’s apple, “If you say anything else about my wife, I’ll cut you open- “

“I’m not your wife yet, dear.” She intoned, rocking on her heels.

He groaned, “Can’t you at least let me threaten him in peace, Agatha? I did kill almost seventy men to get to you, I think I deserve- “ She put both her hands up in a sign of surrender, “As I was saying, if you say anything else about my _wife,_ I’ll cut you open like a fish and I will make it last.”

╌

They had just closed the door when his mouth was on hers, she responded by opening hers to let his tongue in, it was messy and hurried but they were giddy with triumph and bloodlust on their veins, he held her against the wood, she jumped, crossing her legs against his groin and he held her.

He carried her to their bedroom and laid her down, crawled on top, staring down at her with kind eyes, it did not last, though, they broke the cloth that kept them apart, the knowledge of how close they came to losing each other fuelling their passion.

His mouth left her to worship her neck, he licked her scar, a physical reminder of just how deeply they belonged to the other, sucked on it to leave a mark because he’d be damned if anyone tried to take her away again. He would burn down the world before that happened, make them both the King and Queen of the ashes.

His hands cupped her breasts, massaging them and she panted into the crook of his neck, lost in the bliss, squeaking when his calloused fingers touched her nipples.

Soon it wasn’t enough and she grabbed his member with shaking hands, he purred with the pleasure that alone brought him. Agatha opened her legs and guided him inside, cried when she felt his hardness fill her to the brim, held on to his hips with her legs so he was penetrating her as deeply as possible and he moved.

His thrusts were hard and potent, how she liked them, her nails scratched his back, opening the skin when his fingers touched her pearl and rubbed her there, “Mine, mine, _mine_.” He repeated, drugged on her.

Her hands guided him so they were looking at each other as he pounded into her, “All that I am, that I’ll ever be is yours.” She promised, and he kissed her, tender and long like she would disappear if he was too harsh, too quick. 

He looked at her as his pace quickened and her moans became louder, with her feet she pushed on his buttocks because they never were as complete as when he was inside her.

Ecstasy built in them and their gasping was the only testament that they had reached oblivion.

They hugged each other, heart against heart, already on their second time that night, he thrust shallowly against her as he finally told her, “I love you.”

Her eyes filled with happy tears for the first time in her life and she looked at the eyes she had sacrificed so much to find, “I love you too.”

They kissed, water leaking from his eyes too, both repeating those three words like the absolution they were.


	9. Their Now: Year Two Part One.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: This story has undergone a MASSIVE rewrite, no sentence unchanged massive. I changed only the writing style, though, I never felt comfortable writing "She passes him the salt" it felt unnatural but I was not sure since English is not my first language but when I opened my HP books again I realized how majorly I had fucked up, so if you want to reread, the time is now.
> 
> Mina and Anksel are back because I have attachment problems.
> 
> Alsoooo, no more daily updates since I am going through a intense manic episode (delusions, dissociation, etc) sorryyyyy, don't lynch the author.
> 
> Next is on Friday, then on Sunday, then on Thursday, etc, etc.

_THEIR NOW._

_YEAR TWO PART ONE._

It had taken the better part of another three months for everything to get approved, Dracula had wanted to resort to bribery or threats many times and she always reminded him that he was no longer, in any country, the Crown Prince anymore, that civilized people put up with bureaucracy, unless they had the information to blackmail the necessary people.

Deep in his cynicism he offered her to get the information, she just rolled her eyes and prayed for patience, she was just as cross as him but his tendency to over-exaggerate his responses was quite vexing.

The time for the Inauguration ball of the Johnathan Harker foundation was nearing and she was directing the staff so they could properly decorate the estate and the ballroom; She had always liked the gothic aura of her time and she planned to exploit it.

Most of the things they would use would have to be custom made and that was the reason she was starting with the process so early on, along with the fact that most of the Royal Court planned to attend.

It only made her workload increase and were she still mortal, she would have developed a nasty migraine.

They had known a ball would be required but when she tried to persuade him into taking her role he said that the reason he was paying for such a large staff was so he wouldn’t be bothered and that she had wanted unlimited reign over it... He was right, she had.

That didn’t stop her from getting irritated whenever she had to choose between ruby red and blood red, though. It was ridiculous to her how many variations of the same thing they gave her to choose from, like it the world would end if she didn’t pick just right.

She commissioned for the occasion cages small enough for the candles that would be hung, all black of course and drapes of a cream colour that would hang from the ceiling.

In the centre there would a replica of an oak tree that was to be made with wire and from it there would hang burgundy ribbons in the shape of roses, finally, three glass chandeliers would which on a low light would tint the room with a red hue which would accentuate the beauty of dawn when the last of their guests were meant to leave.

For the backdrop, Mina had lent them a portrait of Johnathan for them to replicate, which they were in the process of doing, with the Royal painter.

He had wanted to exaggerate his features so it made him look like a more otherworldly being, an icy shade of blue, dark hair and round angles, almost a complete opposite of his natural structure, “Half the part is the look, forgettable faces don’t make it past history books. They don’t have to be beautiful, just make an impression.”

“If you change his face, she’ll stake you.” She had pointed out when he got particularly stubborn.

“Boring, it is then.”

Special glassware and porcelain were commissioned too, more resistant than normal, they didn’t need any accidents that ended in disaster in front of a crowd that large, while he had taught her control she didn’t trust herself to not get semi manic if someone got a deep injury.

With the more things she finished, she got more excited about it but they still had one big problem.

Every day that the lawyers left without getting anything accomplished he grew more distasteful of the idea of running the Foundation, which left the greatest role on jeopardy and in turn what they were trying to achieve as vulnerable as a foal.

They needed to have either one of them there, to supervise that the direction things went was the most appropriate and deflected the most attention from them. It would be foolish to put themselves in the spotlight when their lifestyle couldn’t be under scrutiny.

The biggest problem was what would they do when the time for them to move came, could they manage everything abroad?

She hadn’t been much of a person’s people on her Before, certainly couldn’t navigate the delicacies of diplomacy now without wanting to shatter something afterwards, she wasn’t trained to see the thinly veiled threats he could spot with such ease, couldn’t control her comebacks before they left her mouth.

He, on the other hand, had little patience to manage so many different people without telling them off when they made mistakes, he was still too used to have his word not questioned and executed without reproach, which in the coming years would bring them more lawsuits that they could ever want.

They were in over their heads, it was clear to her.

She penned Mina for her opinion on the matter, with a solution already on her mind but the girl just responded that it was a matter best talked about in person; One of her distant relatives was going to have a spiritual gathering in which they could meet a fortnight from now, she groaned at the idea of an evening wasted doing such nonsense and Dracula just melted into the couch when she told him but they agreed nevertheless.

It was quite popular, for the rich who had nothing better to do to spend their time delving into the paranormal but she’d rather sleep in a coffin than have to listen to their nonsense.

It was uncharacteristically hot when the night to meet them came and it carried the smell of the Thames over to the city, she had to put a perfumed piece of cloth against her nose to not gag and he tried to take the piece of silk from her but she just pushed his face against the window of the carriage.

They had become accustomed to the filth that much of the population lived in, the smell, though, that was something they had much trouble tolerating, “We are going to Poland next. I can’t take much of this anymore.” He grunted when she let go of him.

“We had accorded on Spain and you lived through the medieval period.”

“I’m still trying to overcome that trauma, love and that was before the Cardinal, he reminded me how _fanatical_ Catholics are. Have I not told you about Bloody Mary?” He fumed.

“Listen, darling, I know Queen Elizabeth was your friend but I _swear_ to you that if you tell me her story or her parent’s or he sibling’s again I will-”

“No, wait a minute, I don’t tell it that-” He growled.

“Queen Elizabeth this, Elizabeth that-” She pouted when a knock on the window stopped them.

“We’re here, my Lords.” Came Jack’s sing-song voice from outside.

“This isn’t over.” She warned, pointing with her finger at him before exiting the vehicle.

They stood at the door and rang the bell, a handsome man opened it just before they were at each other’s throats but her annoyance with him was still clear in her blue eyes, a promise that she wouldn’t forget.

He was closer to her age, nearly matching the Count on stature, green eyes and shoulder-length caramel locks, he took her hand and kissed her bare knuckles, letting them in afterwards, “Lord Eastoft.”

She smiled, tipping her head down slightly at the gesture. “Countess Agatha.”

He saw the exchange with clenched teeth and offered his hand to the Lord, clasping his arm and shaking his with more force than needed.

He guided her further inside the house with his hand possessively on the small of her back.

Dracula looked back at him to find him smirking, raising his glass subtly at him and he had to apply the full extent of his control to not break his neck.

They greeted the rest of the guests with forced smiles and went to find Mina and Anksel, who were in one corner, both with blushing cheeks as he whispered into her ear and she giggled, stopping to smile warmly at them when they were near.

The blonde hugged the brunette and kissed Dracula on the cheek fondly, before looping her arm with hers, leading them away from the men to sit near the unlit chimney and leaned forward, “I’ve missed you.”

Agatha turned her head to look at her and tilted her head, waggling her eyebrows very subtly, “It’s nice to see you without certain death looming on us.”

“I don’t miss that.” She furrowed her brow.

The attendant offered them wine and she took two, offering the other to Mina, who narrowed her eyes, “Can you?” She pointed to her teeth with her hand.

She just shrugged and drank from the cool liquid, changing the subject, “How would you like to run the Jonathan Harker Foundation?”

“Yes!” She jumped, landing next to her and startling her slightly, “You have no idea how much I wanted to do something _other_ than having kids.”

“Then it’s yours.” They _‘clinked’_ their glasses and Mina rested her head on her shoulder, sighing, “What did he do?”

She groaned, “He talks about Queen Elizabeth like three times a week and it’s starting to bother me. Yes, they were friends. Close your mouth sweetheart, you’re in polite company.”

Mina made her best impression of Dracula and deepened her voice, straightening her back, “I’m a four-hundred-year-old warlord that has been looking for a Bride for three hundred of them. I was an accomplished King in life but I learned nothing about women in all this time.”

“Amen.”

_╶_

They were resting their backs against the wall, observing the crowd, the Vampire had both his arms and legs closed while his were both unfolded, he seemed as uninterested as it was possible to politely show with the event, “What did you do?”

“What do you mean, kid?” He challenged, putting his hands on the pockets of his trousers, his tone carried an underlying threat that dared him to continue to pester him.

“Agatha has been glaring at you for forty-five minutes, each spaced with a five-minute span of time. What did you do?” The ginger questioned, rubbing his hands together.

“I may talk two…” He pinched his nose, “Three times a week about Queen Elizabeth. Yes, we were friends. Close your mouth before you make a fool of yourself.”

“So you talk to her about one of the most praised, accomplished women of all times, constantly,” He nudged, smacking his hand against his face. “And expect her to not get mad. Look at who’s making a fool of himself, I have eleven brothers and none are as thick as you.”

“This might go on my tombstone; ‘The four-hundred-year-old warlord and Prince of Vampires has the skills of a boy when it comes to women.’ Ah, ah, ah… If you do anything to me Mina will kill you in your sleep.” He slapped his thighs, snickering.

“He’s been looking at her all this time; did you notice?” He declared, his expression sour.

“Who? That Lord?” He claimed, shaking his head.

“I’m breaking his neck before we leave.”

“And I’m not breaking you out of prison.”

_╶_

They were talking about the remaining details for the ball when the ceremony started, the guests moved to a room where several tables had been joined, turning into a long one for all of them, she sat beside her lover, glaring viciously at him when the Lord from earlier asked to sit next to them, well, her and he only responded that the seats had already been taken.

The young lovebirds were amongst the last to arrive, sitting in the space they had saved for them next to the older two.

The medium was dressed in a dress covered in feathers, with snake tattoos that travelled down both her whole arms, her deep-set brown eyes accentuated with the aid of kohl and the top of her hair braided into a crown, the remaining curls laying prettily in her shoulders. Her fingers were painted with different runes on each, the next more complicated than the last, golden necklaces hung from her neck, all eye-shaped.

She spoke most of the rites in Latin, which no one in the room understood but him, she pleaded for a portal to open at her command, for it to suck them into the dark vortex from which she drew her power, her voice rising with every word until her eyes were both nothing but white.

The light from all the candles in the room was snuffed out with a violent breeze, so cold not even the past winter had produced one quite similar. Left in the darkness people began to murmur, curiosity and wonder rich in their voices, waiting for the next trick of the woman’s performance.

Something danced around them, testing the waters it would be working with, caressing them ever so briefly before moving to the next person, not animalistic but not quite human either, a blend of the two.

It moved with impressive stealth, possibly as light as a feather, so much so they both had trouble making out its’ silhouette but she was able to notice when it split, how in less than a minute it fastened to all their necks like a scarf, so tightly wrapped it might have been able to pass for a snake. Heavy, yet not completely tangible.

The oblivion of dreams enveloped her just as the room started to smell of chrysanthemum, unable to move in the limbo she found herself in, images began to shift around her, never remaining as something coherent for long. 

Used to controlling the structure of other’s dreams she applied the knowledge within herself, focusing on the woman that had summoned whatever this was until she found her, trapping her within her mind even as she felt a sharp pain when she tried to leave, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Rendering the service I was paid to.” She objected, pressing her lips together.

“What do you make them dream of?” Denounced the Vampire, jutting her chin. 

“I’ve long tired of giving them their greatest desires, always equally banal so instead-“

“You give them their greatest fears. Are all mages this melodramatic?” She sneered.

“Only the best among our brethren. I’d say your year as an undead has served you well but one can only sharpen a weapon, the quality has to already be there.” She motioned to the space around her, smirking and began pacing the room they were in, touching the various trinkets that adorned it.

“I think you’ve had fun, let them go.”

With a flick of the mage’s wrist, the scene changed and they found themselves in Dracula’s head, she was dizzy with the pain of their exit, “You’re good but I’ve done this far longer than you’ve been alive. A curious little thing you are, wicked and empathetic, sharp and tender.”

He was in a room full of mirrors, his reflection every bit as terrible as she remembered but that wasn’t the cause of his anguish, alongside his was hers, disappearing when he got too close, blood pouring from the shards when he broke the object and screamed at the illusion to come back. “Four centuries and he’s every bit as emotional as a human, especially so when it comes to you.”

She clenched her fists and bared her fangs, her face flushed, “Get him out of there before I skin you alive.”

“You’re not the only one that struggles with the idea that your reality is fragile.” The floor underneath her began quaking brutally and she struggled to remain upright as it broke into pieces around her.

“That it will evaporate when you make a mistake.” She began choking, her hands at her throat. Even when she didn’t have the need for air anymore it hurt as if she did, making her vision red.

“You are not yet safe, so long Agatha Van Helsing... Carmilla.”

Collective gasps could be heard when they all opened their eyes, some people with their hands at their hearts, like the organ, threatened to claw its way out, some had tears streaming down their faces but he just enveloped her hand with his own, so tightly he gave her the impression she might never let go.

The blonde girl clutched the table in front of her, panting, the ginger assumed a slumped position splaying his fingers to cover his eyes with both hands.

The guest began to rise with different levels of agitation and hyperventilation before storming out of the house without saying goodbye, most of them slamming the door behind them instead of closing it properly.

Mina had the beginnings of a split lip which Anksel cleaned with a napkin, her eyes were devoid of any of their usual warmth, both of them almost as pale as the Vampires next to them, “I think I prefer certain death.”

The Count nodded, while the Captain squinted his eyes and crinkled his nose, it didn’t take them much to recover the necessary strength and the four of them left for the manor together, after insisting that the young couple ditch their accommodations for the night at the local inn and they graciously accepted, wary of the two rats they had encountered while checking their rooms.

After giving them clothes for the night she went to their bedroom and began the long process of peeling off her intricate daywear, she got into her camisole and laid her head against his chest, rubbing her eyes, “Poland doesn’t sound that bad.”

“There are things of my previous life that I’ve always refused to let go of... In all eternity, in all the world there could never be anyone I could ever love as I do you, you need to know that.”

“I do.” He moved his fingers up and down through the outline of her spine.

“At first I thought it might be madness, to see things like that, so beautiful and alive that it made me feel like what was around me was made of glass.” The sound of his heart allowed her to become vulnerable like that.

Agatha _‘bopped’_ the tip of his nose with her index finger. Happy that everything was, finally, _finally_ , so real and solid around her, “But your eyes, those I knew to be real. I looked everywhere for them, every time I left the house. I look for them still, when I wake, after I return to our home.”

It was time, they realised, for the painful truths to come out, for the secrets in their hearts to be opened to one another at last, safe from themselves and one another, “I would have waited my whole life for you, for just a glimpse.”

Dracula looked at her, moving her stray locks behind the shell of her ear, moonlight illuminating her face, unchanged with blue eyes that drank from his brown ones greedily.

She had made him more of a human in a year than when he had had needed air in his lungs, “What do you remember of her?”

“She looked just like you, only more…”

She poked him with sharp nails, knowing the answer already, a warning that she would not take kindly to that remark but her anger just amused him, he opened his mouth to say the word nonetheless but she silenced him with her palm on his mouth, shushing him amidst her breathless laughter, “You don’t want to sleep on the couch after a day like this, do you?”

His hand went to his forehead dramatically and he fluttered his eyes, “Be serious for a moment, what do you really remember of her?”

“I never met her, I mean, we found the carriage and her family, all slaughtered. I was the first one that found her body, they cut her throat. It did strike me as odd that they all had closed eyes, though.”

“No, she killed herself. After finding her family, closing their eyes and realizing that no path she could take would lead to you.” She sighed, maintaining eye contact with him.

His brows furrowed and they let silence fill the space, “Clever girl… I mourned for her. Named my firstborn daughter after her.”

She looked at him with soft eyes and kissed him, a last question on her tongue, “Why do you want kids?”

“I was never a great father to the ones I did have, legitimate or bastards. My heirs never wanted for anything but the Crown was too heavy on my head for me to be their father, I suppose, the others I didn’t even meet." He conceded.

“There’s also the fact that we all had ice in our veins; the wealthy and the powerful, our legacies are built on cutting down anything that may stop us, even family. It’s a hereditary trait, I’ve found.”

He pushed her closer to him, delicately breathing in the scent of her hair while she hugged his frame tight, “Mina said yes.”

“I’ll pay her double just for that, I’ve had my fill of dealing with the British.” He gave an exasperated sigh and ran his free hand down his face.

“We still have the ball.” She curled her lip warily.

“Let’s fake our deaths after we sign the remaining paperwork next week.”

“I have no problem with that.”

They fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note 2: Thank you all for reading and being so supportive with all the shit that has gone down in my personal life. 
> 
> I'm back to working on this story, thought we only have 4-5 chapters left for it to end. 
> 
> I refuse to be a Disney copycat that milks the content out until I ruin the fanfic.
> 
> @Emicmc, sweetheart, I got you, I just need a little time longer to write your one-shot.


	10. Their Now: Year Two Part Two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Guys I'm SO SO SO sorry that I kept you waiting but my manic episode turned into a psychotic one and I'm being HEAVILY medicated.

_THEIR NOW._

_YEAR TWO PART TWO._

They had spared no expense for the inauguration ball and for all the aggravation it had caused, it was easy to forget it when the candles were lit and their house resembled the illustrations in a fairy-tale book.

The culmination of a year and a half of endless paperwork and rage-inducing requirements that made no sense at all, all of it compartmentalized in a single night of dancing and eating. So many idle and somewhat petty choices that had formed a coherent vision, in the end, a graceful balance to observe, neat and tidy, wrapped up with a red ribbon.

Everyone that had been invited and crossed through the mahogany door of their entrance gazed in awe at the meticulous detail that held together the scene and words of approbation were said with different levels of excitement, while the more sensible people just nodded and smiled at them.

Even the servants in their employ, those that had constructed most of the place commented on the Countess’ great taste, how this wouldn’t be surpassed with the weddings that remained to be officiated from last season.

She was clothed in a dress of periwinkle silk with mid-length sleeves, the modest train that it had was embroidered with tulips in pale teal, the colours being exchanged in her shawl and for the first time since arriving on England, she wore a corset.

Her hair was tied up into a top bun, letting very few ringlets frame her face, the final touch for her brunette locks being a comb made of coral that was shaped into the same flower that adorned the fabric of her ensemble and finally wrist length lace gloves that concealed her sharp nails from view.

He wore a white linen shirt with a detachable collar, which was loosely wrapped in a cravat along with a high wasted waistcoat that was squared off at the bottom and last was an overcoat of velvet, such a deep blue that it looked almost black if not hit directly by the light.

His fingers adorned were with gems and gold to display the wealth they possessed, a move so vain she had had no other option but to tease him about it all day before the affair, no longer a Vampire but a human peacock extending its feathers.

He had only responded that it was preferable than wearing a garment meant to suffocate oneself with and when she found no witty reply of her own for that, she reluctantly accepted defeat.

Agatha reminisced that if she were still alive, she would have passed out half an hour after it had been fastened to her body, it was truly a miracle that most of the female population could survive with that thing crushing their ribs from dawn to midnight.

As hosts they received each visitor that came through the door with a warm smile and welcoming attitude, she curtsying and he bowing more often than not, for many were nothing but an avalanche of titles too long and complex for them to remember properly without reading about their stations.

The boldest of the bunch turned her hand when it was time for them to kiss it, placing their lips in the vein where her wrist bent, every time it happened, white-hot rage filled her through their shared bond and his fangs descended just a little.

Small talk was initiated every so often, making them want to groan when the same questions had to be answered for the hundredth time but thankfully she had prepared for it and when she tapped her fan against her forearm a member of the staff came to save them with fabricated problems, most urgent matters that required their immediate attention, the type of which couldn’t be postponed and they made polite excuses, disappearing for ten minutes at most.

By the end of the night, they might have to tip them thrice the normal quota for their troubles.

Then blissfully, Mina and Anksel entered through the door, marking the end of their torture; there to relieve them of their duties and wait for the latecomers of which there would be few.

They both took off, moments away from having their pupils turn red with annoyance, their steps so brisk they were almost running to the ballroom, where the food was about to be served.

Both Vampires sat on their places at the high table because of course, he insisted there had to be a high table, although it couldn’t really be called one, it was indeed slightly longer than the rest, placed in the centre, giving them the possibility to observe the majority of their company at once and close enough to some tables they could hear the chatter that was being told on them.

She gave the sign so the attendants began pouring one after one to deliver a five-course meal to two hundred people.

When the blonde girl and her partner sat they forced them to eat as humans to avoid any gossip from forming in the tongues of bored, frustrated housewives and petty husbands.

The duck was tasty and hot when it met his palette but to the Count, it couldn’t compare to the blood that prolonged his life, yet on his right side, the Mistress of the house licked her lips before eating a bite, joyful to taste normal food again, so much so, she almost moaned when she chewed on the meat.

His eyes rolled back, making it so wine was the only thing they both approached with equal sentiment, wary of how a little alcohol could turn them dishevelled.

The Captain was about to make a comment when the girl kicked him with her shoe on the shin, he grunted softly with pain and the movement of the table drew their interest back to their family, with Miss Murray hissing in a barely audible tone, “Don’t say anything about their condition, some women might be able to hear and I’m not taking care of any fleshy problems that will follow.”

“Are you sure about that?” Said the perplexed undead, tilting her head.

“You’ve no idea the secrets my mother got from gatherings like these, all care is thrown away when they start serving wine. It was enough to blackmail people into submission when it fit her.” She cleaned the corners of her mouth with the white cloth, enunciating each word in a whisper, soft enough so only they could hear.

When the third plate was presented before them their skin was tinted a soft lemon green, Agatha’s colour sicklier looking than him, they cut their meal into tiny pieces with shaking hands and moved the food within their plates from one corner to the other, making enough of a mess so it could pass as barely eaten.

Unaccustomed to it as they had become, much of anything gave them enough reason to want to vomit afterwards, the spices and grease giving them a turbulent stomach, the organ threatening to spit out everything that had graced it in the last forty-eight hours. 

Gratefully when the stewards retired the porcelain from in front of them, they were overwhelmed enough to not question why they hadn’t eaten much of anything. Wine and other drinks began flowing more freely after that, along with cigars.

Red cheeks, slurred words and high pitched laughs filled the room by the time dessert was served, making the affected people eat the sweet treat with unnatural speed, whilst the remaining sober looked at them with pursed lips and lifted chins.

“Are the men we got for the difficult drunks already amongst the crowd?” She inquired.

He pitched his nose and furrowed his brow. “I forgot to get them.”

“I asked you for _one_ thing and you forgot?!” She shirked indignantly.

“There won’t be _that_ many- “

She threw her head back and rubbed her forehead with her hands, “That many? I swear if there’s even _one_ fight we have to break up you’re sleeping in the library.”

“You can’t make me, _dear._ ” He said, tapping his finger against the wood of the table.

“I can barricade the door with your precious statues.”

“And I can have your study ransacked from the texts from the Vault.”

Mina stared at her hands while they bickered, counting to one hundred in her head. “Can’t they spend one evening without going at it?” He prodded.

“Time has proven they cannot.” She shrugged.

“I can toss both our umbrellas to the fire.” She provoked.

“You wouldn’t dare!” Dracula jeered.

Exasperated the young woman stood up and hit lightly with her spoon her glass.

“Your attention, please… Thank you. Count Dracula has an announcement to make to his guests.” Then she sat back down.

“After much thought and consideration, I decided I will not run the Johnathan Harker foundation.” Several gasps were heard but he silenced them by raising his hand.

He turned to the expectant girl smiling sincerely, with his palm up he offered his hand, she took it and rose, blushing, “The only person fit to do so is the woman that can best preserve his memory, whose devotion has not faltered even with his passing… Miss Mina Murray.”

He narrowed his eyes, daring anyone to object, his frame regal and strong in that moment, all royal blood and danger, commanding enough on his own that no voice came that questioned his decision, their discontent overruled by silence he imposed.

As expected the first ones to clap were the already inebriated ones, followed by the reluctant sobers and their wives, the tension of their blatant disagreement thick in the air.

Agatha’s voice was clear and unwavering as she plastered a fake smile in her face, “I believe it is time for us to dance.”

The gentry moved as fast as they could after hearing that, happy to have something else to do than ponder on the Count’s decision, which the vast majority thought unwise and problematic, mindful of not expressing it though, since they were only attendees.

The orchestra changed their tune to a waltz to open the dance floor to; a mellow melody that was pleasant to hear, the violins and the flutes slow, the cellos careful to enhance their gentle harmony and the piano leading them all.

When they arrived to the dance floor he took with his left hand her right one, briefly caressing the skin with his thumb as she bit her lower lip and he guided her into position, his other hand slightly lower than appropriate.

They moved gracefully with the aid of their shared blood, gliding in perfect circles, their bodies close, illuminated by the hundreds of candles that were lit, he twirled her when there was enough room and she smiled at him with her head rising to the roof to admire the cages that hung from it.

Until it wasn’t her home that she was looking at, the marble of the floor was changed for stone and the design of her clothes was not one she had ever seen before.

Her hands seemed almost younger, with less prominent veins. The women around her wore gowns, not unlike her own, they had their hair in complex braids and ribbons that kept the hair out of their faces, clocked in heavy furs that were not needed in the weather they lived in.

No longer was she in a ballroom in their state but in a grand Castle, a fortress she had never seen before and yet wasn’t absolutely unfamiliar, decorated with banners in midnight blue.

Her eyes came to rest on the Crown on his head and she felt the heaviness of the one on her own, he seemed at least seven years younger than the version of him she was enamoured with, the dark orbs she couldn’t get enough of seemed less haunted, less cruel than what she knew they could be.

The hand that held her own had no sharp nails but neatly trimmed ones, the texture of his hands rougher than the one she knew, his skin had regained the colour he had possessed as a human, no longer owning the ethereal paleness that characterized their kind, his lungs again needing air, the rise of his chest steady and constant.

He couldn’t pinpoint the moment his surroundings changed, he only knew they did and he was no longer on Britain but on his long left castle in Transylvania, he felt a familiar weight on top of his head, the one kind he had never wanted to regain.

The people around him danced to medieval tunes, clothed in attires that had been long forgotten, thick fabrics that covered them from the beastly chill that they lived in all year, the stone that was the foundation of the castle only serving to aggravate it, around him the room was decorated with his family’s symbol, a reminder of his blood right to the men that whispered behind his back, unhappy with his decisions but smart enough to not defy him face to face.

His stare turned to Agatha and he found a younger version of her staring back at him, the one he had seen that fateful night in the snow even though her throat bore no mark of any kind, she was dressed in a gown of blue, the Royal colour of his House.

Nothing of her remained the same as he knew and the woman that stared back at him had all the cunningness he was accustomed to but none of the wickedness he knew her capable of.

Her body plump and her belly swollen with his child, he took a sharp breath at that, unnerved at the sight, overwhelmed by it, so many emotions he felt at once he wanted to stare at the wall until it disappeared.

They knew had been drugged, possibly even poisoned from the blood that dripped from their noses, they crashed with another couple and retired to the balcony where they would be alone only to find their shared hallucinations still had a deathly grip on their minds.

With wide eyes they searched for the cause of their affliction, in a moment of clarity, it came to the front of their minds, a type of cream in the soup they hadn’t been able to identify, their drinks sourer than what their memories told them was normal.

The feeling of being watched all evening and attributing it to some curious guests that surely meant no harm.

Overpowered with the sheer strength of the fantasy, reality and daydreams began to blur for them, their linked hands their only tether to what they knew to be true.

They saw and heard things that were not there, all their senses submerged on treacherous waters that felt as real as anything, raw nerves that wanted to burn them.

A girl of no more than five came running towards them, her hair as dark as his and her eyes the same as hers, “Mama, Papa! Up! Up!”

Agatha embraced the child with both arms, keeping her close to her chest and kissing her repeatedly as the child laughed, “You’re every bit as demanding as your father.” She exclaimed in Romanian.

Their baby just giggled before snuggling closer to her mother, while her father embraced them both from behind, kissing his wife’s temple tenderly, “Baby more than me and Papa.”

With amazing agility, she jumped to the ground and took off running towards the gardens, her small frame was quickly lost in the darkness and her laughter became the only indication of where she could be, “Catch me! Catch me!”

They took off after their daughter, concerned that she may get lost in the dark in the vast greenery that was the Royal Gardens.

Her worry a destructive thing that left her no other option but to clench her fists so tight she drew blood from the palms of her hands.

His concern was a vicious, sharp thing in his chest, the urge to use the sword at his hip strong, to destroy anything or anyone.

With every passing minute the sound of her mischief grew softer and not long after that it vanished, their need to scream replacing its absence, horrid terror clutching at their ribs, threatening to squeeze them harder, denying them the privilege of breathing.

She looked at every place where she could have been hidden, coming short every time for there were no footprints in the ground and with every passing minute the cold augmented, their teeth moved involuntarily as they made their way to the other, defeated.

He touched his Queen’s cheek and as soon as his fingers came in contact with her skin they were both blasted backwards with an immense force, crashing against the hard stone of the veranda, taking down with them some of its metal structure.

They heard three different laughs and the Count and the Countess rose, chasing after the three pairs of yellow eyes that they had managed to see in the darkness, however, they found themselves lacking in their supernatural speed due to their strength being focused on avoiding injury from the blast and that limited them in their pursuit.

Alas, they didn’t stop until they arrived at the limit of their vast property.

He embraced her then, not knowing what else to do and from their heads fell two Crowns made of gold.

With wide eyes, she retrieved hers from the ground, a heavy, intricate thing that was as solid as any object had the right to be.

He retrieved his, the shape and the design familiar to him even after four hundred years and as unreasonable as it sounded they had the sneaking suspicion that getting rid of them would make things harder against their newest foes, at least like this they served as clues.

“The Crown in your hands was made for the coronation you never had.”

“It’s beautiful… Is that your own?”

“I thought I’d never see it again.” He worried.

“This is…” She breathed anxiously, rattled enough it wasn’t possible for her to finish the sentence.

“A warning.” Dracula finished.

She gripped the jewel in one hand and he enveloped her on his arms again, kissing her forehead as they both shivered, alarmed at the intensity of the invention they had briefly lived in, at how they had been unable to do anything about it until it had been too late.

Most importantly frightened at whoever was behind it, at the power they wielded.

She should have known the Mage would come back, Vampires alone were hard to find and they were part of the very few that had retained their minds.

They returned to their house to an empty room and a long finished party, it’s only remaining witnesses were the young couple they had grown incredibly close to.

“All the gentry already left but don’t worry, you are foreigners and they attributed it to you being eccentric, no one was offended, thank God.” Mina effused.

“But you did miss this.” She showed them the ring on her finger, smiling from ear to ear.

Agatha hugged the girl tightly, “Come, you must be tired, I’ll show you to your room.”

“Actually we are leaving tonight for the Southern Isles, Anksel wants to introduce me to his family, maybe I’ll even meet the Ice Queen!”

The Vampires then showed them to the door, relieved they would be far away for a couple of months while they settled thing amongst the Royal Family and gave both of them affectionate goodbyes, “Isn’t this the moment you threaten me in case I make her unhappy?”

“She’s perfectly capable of killing you herself and we would, of course, help her in hiding and disposing of your body.” He said.

╌

The next day when they woke up they examined the Crowns the had left on the desk from afar, grimacing, they glared at them like that would solve all the problems those two represented like their will was enough to terrorize the faces they had encountered the day before.

Ones that had been sneaky enough to have them poisoned knowing it wouldn’t kill them but disturb them just enough to let their guard down, allowing them to watch the show from the sidelines while both of them chased for their inexistent daughter in their visions.

As expected, just glaring at it proved futile and instead of wasting the day they got dressed, making way for the library, the golden objects heavy on their hands, where they activated the mechanism that concealed the Vault.

A secret they were the only ones privy to after burning the drafts of the property after the incident with the Cardinal, that had made them have this built, feeding on the architect and his workers as soon as it was finished, alert and somewhat paranoid of what might come next, almost having predicted this.

They descended the stairs and with his signet ring they unlocked the metal gate that served as the last defence in the room should they have to hide; It was heavy enough that it took the two of them to break the time they messed with the prototype.

Obviously, they could trap themselves in as much as they could trap others out and for that, they had under a massive box made of stone tunnels that led to different escape routes.

A complex underground maze that of their own creation that gave them three options; the inn near the docks, outside Westminster abbey and outside the Tower of London.

The map branded in their brains.

Closing the gate after him, she to lit the candles and they began searching.

They were going through the Vault for the sixth time, looking for any information about mages, especially of their highest ranking brethren and finding nothing of consequence every time, the relevant information hidden after the inquisition.

Her frustration made her snap, “Can’t we go six full months without fighting for our lives?!”

He just sighed, careful of not saying anything that might further infuriate her, opening an antique book that was on the verge of collapse, “Where did she get those bloody Crowns anyways?” She mumbled.

“Mine and yours were on the British museum’s archives, I believe I did mention my plan to raid it in the near future. They still have several things of mine.”

She closed the book she was holding violently, “So the journals we need are either on Westminster abbey or the British Museum, two heavily warded places made to keep people away from their secrets. Fantastic.”

He took the sword he had used against the Cardinal and his men from the wall, the one of his coronation and gave her two daggers.

Count Dracula opened the lid of the box and declared, “Ladies first.”


	11. Their Now: Year Two Part Three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: The end has begun.
> 
> Thank you all for making this one of the best things that has ever happened to me.
> 
> Edit: Don't panic I'm an advocate for #BringHappyEndingsTheFuckBack

_THEIR NOW._

_YEAR TWO PART THREE._

Out of all the stupid things she had done at his side, meant to entertain or because her mental capacity had been somewhat compromised, this outdid every single one of them, put together.

Yes, they didn’t know how much time they had before the attack, but going to a place that warded secrets of that kind, unprepared, Agatha was sure, was tactical suicide.

Dear Lord, why hadn’t she complained? Perhaps the illusion from the day before still clouded her reason like fog or perhaps it seemed like he knew what he was doing at the time.

Why was that witch so interested in them anyway? They were immortal beings with enhanced senses and abilities but nothing further than that, unless she wanted soldiers of course, maybe it was his bloodline, the one Vampire, well one of two now, that had regained his mind completely intact, one of few who had lived past the first century.

Living relics that didn’t obey the natural order of time, of death, defying them both with a smirk on their faces, the two deadliest Gods and two undeads in equal footing.

She had said something before realising them from her twisted grip but that too didn’t make much sense or give away something useful… or she was reading it all too fast; Johnathan had surmised that the map to his castle was behind the architect’s lost love.

He told her to look into the details that all eccentric and creative people gave, clues, floating away without meaning to, pieces of information that turned to breadcrumbs, left out for the willing to try and make sense of. A mystery to unravel if one was willing to pay the cost.

_╶_

_“You’re not the only one that struggles with the idea that your reality is fragile.” The floor underneath her began quaking brutally and she struggled to remain upright as it broke into pieces around her._

_“That it will evaporate when you make a mistake.” She began choking, her hands at her throat. Even when she didn’t have the need for air anymore it hurt as if she did, making her vision red._

_“You are not yet safe, so long Agatha Van Helsing... Carmilla.”_

_╶_

Blood could evaporate, she had learned through the course of a year and six months, the water within it at least and what it left behind was the imprint that it had been there, sucked nearly fully dry of life, a ghost.

Obviously, that meant their lives, nevertheless dying was different than evaporating so it wouldn’t be death they faced, not really, gone just enough for something to remain but still too far gone for it to be enough.

Her reality was always fragile until she found him; she wasn’t completely sure but she had the suspicion he had been but a tenth of his true self back then, all cynicism, venom and death, the Prince of darkness that favoured ice over fire for it was more beautiful to freeze than to burn, so what she meant by that was separation of the tether they had to life, each other.

Over her already dead fucking body, she hadn’t spent twenty-five years of her life running around the continent for that outcome, sacrificing so many of things when she finally found him for a capricious bitch to take him away.

Last, that she was not yet safe. Dracula would never touch a hair on her head, so that left him out.

Safe from who? Form her? Her brethren? From herself?

Evaporation. Separation.

She wanted something from them that would mark them, brand them and she would keep the ashes of who they once were, it was now clear but the earth had birthed everything and it was nothing but dirt.

What was so valuable about them that was worth that much on its own? What was she hoping they left behind?

The two daggers were heavy on her hand, less than her Crown, thankfully. It was every bit as heavy as he had told her and she didn’t want to imagine how that augmented when responsibility was added to it.

She had read of his reign behind his back and his narcissism meant he had a whole book just about it; A prosperous King, a bloody one too, more concerned with the facts than to entertain the Pope’s every whim and five children that had all survived into adulthood.

He had done good with the things he had been given, even if his bloodlust was the same as now.

What would have happened if she hadn’t died back then? She would have grown to love him as she now did surely… What of the rest?

What meant to be a Queen and a wife?

How many of their children would have shared his eyes?

The beating of her heart stopped for a moment, her hand went to her womb and she looked at the ceiling. It was the ultimate expression of love she had learned, for a woman to carry in her the babe created of their shared love.

A chance they would never get, a shared ache that hid in the back of their minds, always present even if they couldn’t bring themselves to voice it, one that would last for an eternity and didn’t show any signs of getting any less painful.

So many questions she now had, so few answers for them.

They had been walking for two hours, if the condition of the torch that lit their way was to be believed, the Abbey was first it seemed since they had taken the underground tunnels.

Of course, he’d want to start there, he loved making fun of God every time he could and he rejoiced in telling her what a bad Nun she had been and while indeed, she was at fault, she refused to acknowledge just how much she had dreaded all those convents and prayers.

People were always their worst in jobs that weren’t fit for them, blown out candles that continued to melt.

It had been his idea, the labyrinth, he was probably sentimental about the one he had left countries away, yet it was a good idea if she was honest, she had come to understand they would have to fight every now and then.

Power was something humans loved stealing almost as much as secrets, they were amongst the best-kept ones, as powerful as demigods.

Mortals traded with them, a currency deadlier than any other and oh how exquisite it was to taste the testament of it on their blood, so may repressed desires, wild instincts that had no place in what everyone tried to believe was polite society.

Blood would be spilt by him and her like ink, it simply couldn’t be avoided if they wanted to survive. The problem was recognising a friend from a foe, they all looked so very much alike in the start, the details were the ones that changed with time, many feelings that developed a symphony greater than anyone had ever put on paper, always so many of them, a vast and different as snowflakes. Intense things that corrupted or blessed but always grey, sometimes lighter or darker but grey all the same.

“We’ve arrived.” He stated, his hands working on opening the trapdoor.

“Thank God.” She chortled.

“No need to thank me yet, we have to pass the guards still.” He grinned, letting her go first, like the gentleman he most certainly wasn’t seventy per cent of the time.

They managed to get to the personal chapel they used for everyday life without incident, without anyone noticing but when the insomniac Priest caught them no believable excuses came to mind.

He was choking him then and he guided her hand, placing it against the man’s forehead, “We don’t know how many mages we’ll encounter so I have to teach you these things now.”

She nodded whilst biting her lip, a nervous but eager student, “Feel his blood as it flows through, command it…”

Agatha felt it responding to her with wide pupils, he became an extension of the tales that lived in her veins, all connected at their core, with the infinite words that came before and after them, “Blood is history, blood is testimony and you’re the great collector.”

She had stopped breathing, her left hand gripping the cloth of her dress and his dreams and memories were all bared to her, moving pictures made of longing and terror. She went for his memories then and she twisted them to forget, giving him a new purpose, made his mind respond to the power in her veins, her fingers hurt with the effort but she achieved it.

The Father did not know anything but his need to sleep and dismiss the archive’s guards for the night, feeling giving all of the sudden.

His eyes opened and he went through a door hidden by a mantel besides the altar, resurfacing with three other men, who were heavily armed, carrying two pistols, along with a short sword each.

She rested against a pillar, with the beginnings of a headache, panting and somewhat drained, quite literally if she was right, from the act but smiling with closed eyes at her success. He was in front of her, cloaked by the shadows and when they heard the Priest disappear deep enough into the building her kissed her forehead.

The metal, spiral staircases that followed were difficult to walk through in her dress, which kept getting stuck every five or six steps, “I can’t deal with this anymore; I’m borrowing your trousers when we go out on things like this.”

“You’d look rather lovely in just that.” She blushed, apple red cheeks, her neck and the tips of her ears flushed.

At the last step, he offered her his hand and she took it gladly, what their eyes first saw were rows upon rows of bookshelves and they both groaned at the same time, splitting up with him at the back and her at the front. In every bookshelf there were words written in code and indulging her own inner dramatic for once she deciphered it sitting on the floor, her finger pricked with one of her fangs.

It took Agatha the better part of an hour but when she was done they finally had some sense of direction, they were classified in two sections and further than that in years, so they went to the year sixteen thousand and they began to search the various rows of books. He found one handwritten journal that bore the same design as one of the snakes she had had on her arms.

It was written in Latin, which meant only he could read it.

When they were retiring from the room she had a brilliant, mischievous idea; she drew a pentagram in the already bloodstained tiles while his whole face lit up and he smiled, his eyes twinkling. She had always wanted to rattle some members of the Church, how very exiting could England be sometimes. This was the chance of a lifetime.

╌

She bit her lower lip, drawing blood from the thick skin, “So let me get this straight; Firstly, mages can feed on the life force of people but can’t separate that from the spirit or souls, whatever they are, they do it to prolong their lives, to gain power and while it’s a prohibited practice some abandon everything to do just that.”

“Secondly, they need either Incubus and Succubus for the ritual, to match the gender of the victim. Thirdly, they are nothing but glorified trick loving Vampires.” She huffed, pacing and rubbing her eyes.

“That means that all the people we have fed on can be summoned when they take ours.” He was frowning, Dracula couldn’t for the life of him know exactly how many lives he had taken in four hundred and one years but good God he was sure it a six number total.

“Also, from your books in the Vault those night stalkers possess more or less our same abilities and we know not how to kill them. We also only possess one of the journals and we need two to have real answers.” She sighed, sitting next to him on the couch and resting her head on his shoulder.

“We might really die…” His Bride said, her voice a broken, shaking thing.

She straddled him, looking at him with tears that threatened to leak from her blue orbs, caressing his cheeks with her thumb and trembling slightly from the very real possibility this time they alone might not be enough. “If things go wrong and we lose she can take me; four hundred years are worth far more than one and a half.”

Agatha shushed him with a brief, gentle kiss, whispering against his lips, “Don’t, just don’t, if we are to die or become what that leaves us as, I want to do it by your side.”

“You are my heart, the man I searched for since I was ten, the man I was betrothed to. Blood is lives, blood is you and me, forever.”

His arms embraced her by the waist as he kissed her worries away, noticing she returned the favour with the same tenderness, eventually stopping.

It was gentle, how he rested his face against the crook of her neck and she ran her hands through his black locks, how he kissed her collarbone and held her close, as close as he physically could, how the beating of their hearts was the only thing that mattered anymore.

He was content with never seeing the sun again as long as he could look at her instead.

She smelled like lavender and books, like the home and love he had never known before her, would never again know if something happened to her.

Her body made to fit with his, like her mind and her soul, a dyad, her and him, perfectly balanced.

She stood up and began removing her clothes, first her dress which pooled at her feet, then her boots and socks, leaving her with only her shift. He took off his shirt with skilled hands, one button after the other, while she watched him with a predatory gaze, the offending garment was tossed behind him, landing somewhere he didn’t care to know and he practically ripped his shoes off, of which he lost track afterwards.

He removed her shift, rid her of her undergarments, she his trousers, his belt and small clothes, he sat back down in lounge then, never letting go of her hand, waiting for her and she came to him, stopping for a moment to look at his eyes and straddled him again. He gave her a sweet gentle kiss first, his lips placed against her eyelids, just below her brow bone, Dracula tried to reassure her, to promise her protection with it however deluded it was, knowing who they had to fight.

He had wanted for them to live together, for all eternity but sometimes dreams were so far away and nightmares so close.

Sometimes they won.

Her hands cupped his cheeks, guiding his mouth to hers, kissing him with an open mouth, biting on his lower lip like she did hers at times, never stopping for air that they didn’t need and she moaned into his mouth. Hungry, desperate and lustful all at once, they never got enough, didn’t bother to try and calculate the time they spent like that, lost in the feeling of each other.

His hands were at her back to keep her close and he moved one of them to fondle her right breast as his mouth latched to the left, she whimpered when his teeth graced the tender skin of her nipples. Her hands playing with the hairs of the back of his neck and his name leaving her vocal cords every so often because it was the only word she knew she could never, _ever_ , forget. His tongue swirled around her bud, wetting it, leaving it the same way she already was between her legs.

When his fingers advanced to her swollen nub she hissed, grinding her hips against his hand, desperate for any kind of friction she could get, his shaft against her stomach enjoyed the fruits of her constant movements and he purred. She came so hard she wasn’t even able to scream but still, she took him on hand and ran her thumb against the head, which made him heave, she guided him inside and began to ride him, hands clutching the wood behinds his head for leverage.

With his hands on her hips, he controlled how deep every thrust was, sometimes he filled her completely and sometimes the head was the only thing that entered her until during a particular one where he was as deep as possible she clenched her walls, deciding on keeping him in. She rested her forehead against his, giving his lips butterfly kisses and moving her arms to wrap around his neck.

Their movements were controlled if somewhat brutal, frantic in their need to fall of the cliff that was their euphoria, the harsher they became the closer it was and so he dug his fingers into her hips with force, bound to paint the mark of his digits in purple or blue.

They came exquisitely, harder than any time before, afraid of losing what they most loved, cherishing the time it lasted, of which they had mistakenly thought they had so much and for the first time no noise could be heard from either of them. His length was softening inside her but she made no move to take it out, was not ready to be incomplete once again without him in her.

“My Prince.”

“My Queen.”

╌

They had called the representative of the Crown that had overseen the process of the Foundation, bribed him for the drafts of the construction they planned to raid and then made him forget.

On a foggy night, they walked to the museum, having studied the layout of the building for almost a month, this target ten times better protected than the Abbey for everything that it held.

Power was history, history was power and this method was the one Monarchs used to turn a country into an Empire.

The guards outside were easily avoided by them climbing on the walls like spiders and forcing a window open, the ones inside were trickier, alert and observant of their surroundings, well paid to render the protection it needed but they had perfected the art of silence so with careful movements and distractions they went on.

It took almost three hours since they had opened the window for them to reach the archives, which were protected by a metal door they had to hijack without breaking, she gave up on her third try and he managed to open it on his second, mumbling something about a Tsar that had been too greedy for his own good and stupid enough to steal from him.

The layout was absolutely different from Westminster, divided instead by cultures and nations, making the obvious choice for them to start with Spain, the majority paranoiac even to this day of anything that defied their faith.

She scanned book after book, always finding the same, graphic tales of the people they had murdered to try and cleanse their land. Their conquest of the New World was especially brutal in how much they had ransacked the natives and it made her want to melt the crown the catholic Queen had worn on her head, alas, she might still be clawing at her coffin and Agatha smirked at that.

He examined what had been known as Prussia, finding nothing but that inbreeding went deeper than he had ever fathomed, of the mutations that it had caused along with the measures and experiments that had been taken and conducted to cure the afflicted aristocrats.

When he had been human it was already illegal to marry one’s sister but cousins were still permitted, it had always disgusted him somewhat so he hadn’t encouraged the practice and according to these books he had saved many generations by doing so.

He was about to decide on what he was throwing to the fire when they got back when she had the brilliant idea of looking into Italy and so they did, covered in dust and spider waves when they reached it. The journal they needed was hidden behind yellowed papers that most probably belonged to the Church, the snake that was embroidered in the cover told them beyond a doubt that this was what they were looking for and he tossed it in the satchel they had brought along.

She was making her way out when he told her, “I still need to get my things.”

“I thought you were joking.” She disputed.

“Jokes are for the people that cannot understand the fine art of sarcasm.” He said, walking to the Romanian section.

He punched the wooden box open, the one that had been recovered from his reign and had his name written on it, rummaging through its contents until he found the statuette that he wanted. leaving the rest behind with a frown on his face, they only had one thing he had wanted.

He showed her the piece of art. A figurine of him made in marble that was an accurate portrait of the day he had been crowned, with rubies and diamonds and emeralds attached to the miniature crown, a perfect replica of the real one.

“You’re the only man with such a big ego to raid one of the biggest museums in the world and take a mini him.” She huffed.

_╶_

A week after their heist he had successfully transcribed both texts to English, learning that Succubus and Incubus could only be killed via decapitation and that all Mages only had so much stamina for spells no matter the circumstances but it was very high. They had almost everything they needed.

He was going to teach her to wield a weapon.

He was going to teach her the secrets born of their mutated blood.

He was going to teach her what she needed to know if they hoped to survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: The end has begun.
> 
> Thank you all for making this one of the best things that has ever happened to me.
> 
> Edit: Don't panic I'm an advocate for #BringHappyEndingsTheFuckBack


	12. Their Now: Year Two Part Four.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: I have no other words but thank you, thank you, thank you.

_THEIR NOW._

_YEAR TWO PART FOUR._

Agatha was confused as to what was happening when she met him in the deserted ballroom, dressed with a shirt and trousers instead of one of her dresses. He handed her a dagger and a sword and she lifted her brow whilst taking the weapons, heavy and cool in her grip, “What do I need these for?” She said.

“She needs us alive-" He remarked.

“We’re dead.” Agatha interrupted.

He glared at her, ignoring the comment and continuing, pinching the bridge of his nose after sighing, “She will aim to incapacitate rather than kill, that gives us some advantage, however small, over her.”

He showed her the position she needed to adopt, her right hand at the top end of the grip and the left at the bottom, close to the pommel of the weapon, elbows bent, left foot in front of the right and it all made her question why she needed the dagger when both her hands were occupied.

“Why are we starting with weapons and not my abilities?” She challenged as he mirrored her stance with his body and his weapon.

“Your mind is formidable so you won’t need much practice, however, brute strength is what we must use first, lest you’re too drained by the end.” His eyes glazed over her, putting some distance between them before making a high arc with the blade in a diagonal motion.

It would have hit her in the shoulder had she wasted another minute, probably even her neck but she blocked it at the last moment, putting her whole weight in her feet, suddenly aware of how much she needed to balance herself, “Drained?”

“How did you feel after commanding the Priest?” He said, pupils, dilating, the iris lost to her. This time lunging for her stomach and she shrieked, dodging him just in time, slightly scared that he wasn’t restraining himself, however unreasonable it was since she was undead.

“I had the beginnings of a headache.” She seethed, clenching her jaw. This time when she attacked, aiming for his ribs but not fast enough for it to matter, he ducked and with her back turned seized the moment, resting his sword in the curve of her neck.

She’d lost.

“I assure you calling on animals is way more painful than that.” He appealed.

“But you don’t feel anything after your shows!” She cried, frustrated and defeated.

“I’ve had centuries of practice, you just died a year and seven months ago.”

He made his way to her and when he was about to kiss her she put her dagger at his throat, pissed by his cockiness, he smirked, clearly pleased, “Such a good student that you are. How can you behead me with the dagger at my throat?” He cooed.

When she didn’t answer his lips came closer to hers, marking his neck with a fine line of blood as the sharpness of the knife dug into his skin, he eyed the object of his desire, his eyes down before looking at her blue orbs, “You stab your opponent with the dagger vertically and when it’s hilt deep in them you yank it to either side, severing half of the neck, the other half you dispose of with whatever you can.”

With half-lidded eyes, she nodded her understanding and he closed the wound before assuming the posture of a warrior once again, ignoring her groaning at his lack of true teaching abilities, “Don’t use as much strength this time, your best bet is your speed.”

Their competition began again and was repeated as many times in the day as possible, with the outcome always the same, his sword at her neck. It angered and frustrated her, making her be bolder and more unhinged every time, which only got her a lecture from him and twice as many defeats that the ones he had predicted for the day.

She wanted to learn it quickly but skills like that were always developed under strict practice and she had never even held anything other than a stake to attack someone with.

Her hair had gotten in the way most of the time, so for the final practice, she had braided it and restrained it with a green stripe, which she got from tearing the piece of cloth she had used when reaching shore on the ship.

She cursed under her breath more that evening that she had done in her whole life, hyper-aware that the danger she was in was greater than him whilst she remained unprepared, concerned that if she couldn’t hold her own he’d get severely hurt.

_╶_

The seamstress visited again and was paid handsomely to make her menswear, to which she responded by promising her complete silence but alone in the master bedroom, taking her measurements, the old woman hummed a pretty tune, clearly pleased with herself, muttering under her breath every so often how she had finally reached the pinnacle of her career.

“My dear, you don’t have any idea how many women would kill for a man like that.” Her cheeks flushed and she laughed.

_╶_

She spent her weeks practising, obliterating dummy after dummy, stabbing them, recreating the movements of the paper he had given her, more dedicated to her training when the ghost of the metal against her skin came back to her mind, her rage at everything a powerful, dangerous and unrefined thing.

When she wasn’t parrying with him she was pestering him to do so and he indulged most of the time, having to stop only when the flashes of his previous life became too real for him to deal with, things he had buried that had finally reached the brim.

Their tempers shorter by the day, even when they tried to deny that the uncertainty of things brought back things to the surface they’d rather ignore.

She knew he loved her, so when she bled she didn’t say anything, especially when he destroyed several pieces of furniture every time he was able to see it before she could close or hide it, shallow wounds that wouldn’t turn to scars but reminded her of her inability all the same.

And so they continued for three restless months until she finally was the one that threatened to behead him, it predictably ended with him taking her against the wall, with large cuts that she made to his back with her nails in response.

╌

Mina had come back from her trip before they had planned, so it mattered not how they got her out of the country, just that they did and they both found themselves at the deck of the Demeter once again, crowded with humans once more. Mortals that upgraded the vessel to be up to Dracula’s standards for a wedding present, enough of them to get the job done in less than a month and to look like a small army to the passer-by’s.

Stripped down to its shell it looked nothing like the place her death had happened on but it was something she was willing to ignore as long as it got the girl they had grown to care for as a surrogate daughter, (he’d deny this if you asked), out of England in time.

When the last detail was added they renamed it the _‘Endurance’_ , fit for the three, one of the few traits they shared in equal abundance, with her lacking their gift for sarcasm.

Cabin number nine was the last thing to be torn apart and he refused to be there to see it, leaving her by herself that day to say goodbye, her thought a heavy, treacherous thing on her mind.

By the time she had to pen her to come down to London, it had been stocked with everything they could ever need for a voyage of four months. Clothes, provisions and a small staff with a particular man that appeared to be cross all the time but had travelled enough in his life to know where they could port with a moment’s notice.

They had tea over at their mansion, where the couple told them of the many sights they had seen in his home country, Mina practically bouncing on her seat when it was her turn to speak, childlike wonder in her eyes as she grew impatient to share that the Ice Queen had a talking snowman, passing them several portraits when they both almost choked on the red liquid within their glasses.

The Count held the pieces against the candlelight, examining it for clues of a montage of which he found none, the single most ridiculous thing he had heard in his four centuries of life and worse, that it appeared to be true, even if by her account Olaf sounded as dim-witted as a turkey.

He wondered how the Queen would taste, knowing fully that he’d never get the chance, possessing a gift as dangerous as she did and her sister with a right hook that he was wary of.

When the hour grew late enough Jack took them all down to the docks, where the young man and his fiancée both squealed with delight upon seeing the ship and they smiled softly at the reminder of how very alike the two were.

He proceeded to show Anksel around, charming him with illusions into believing the only prudent thing was to sail the world until December, far away in the New World and the Caribbean.

Agatha tried to do the same thing with the girl but she was quick to catch on to her intentions, stopping her hand, literally, without knowing it, “Why are you both trying to get us out of here when we’ve just returned?”

She bit her lower lip, deciding on the truth, “Someone is coming after us and this time… we might not win.”

Her tone sent a chill down the blonde’s spine, understanding now their urge to get them as far away as possible, her pulse accelerated as her thoughts tried to form something as terrible to beat two Vampires, finding very few answers.

“I’ve learned to forgive him, you know? He’s not the same man that tore my world to pieces. Now, he even reminds me of my father.” A few tears left her eyes, her heart preparing for the very real possibility of losing them both and her hand took hers in her own in a vice-like grip.

“Listen to me, you will give me away at the altar while he whispers threats to my love. When we come back you both will still be alive.” She hugged the older woman.

Agatha pressed a sweet kiss to her forehead while she willed herself to be strong. “Of course, sweet girl.”

Mina smiled and hugged the ginger when he came back, sailing away into the night as soon as the rest of the crew embarked.

The next thing they did after saying goodbye to the lovebirds was that they dismissed Jack, sending him to work with one of her acquaintances in the country. They were fond of him and his antics; they didn’t need him to be collateral damage.

╌

When they duelled his speed increased, along with the strength behind his blows and they finally fought like the Vampires they were, fast, predatory and unrestrained, power practically leaking from them but this time she caught on fast, his Bride his equal, gone before the steel clashed more often than not, moving and attacking, leaving him to rely on his senses to know her location.

Finally satisfied they began with the ‘party tricks’ as she liked to call them shortly after, he taught her with patience but to his great shock she couldn’t manage much besides illusions. Nothing answered nor came when she beckoned it to, the flutter of wings and the howls nowhere to be heard like she had blocked that part of herself somehow and they couldn’t find the key.

It didn’t help that every day that passed their paranoia became a bigger monster, making them ditch sleep altogether after a month, to lock the armoury behind a reinforced door, pace through the hidden corridors and rooms even when they knew the layout by heart, just to check once more because it couldn’t hurt to reassure themselves unwanted visitors couldn't come through them.

They had taken to look for threats in the shadows they had once felt so comfortable in, to flinch every time a loud sound made its way to their ears. It began affecting their diet too, uncomfortable with going outside for longer than an hour, leaving them slightly weaker than the indestructible beings they were used to feeling like, she finally understood why their victims had to be so carefully selected but that process took too much time.

It was a waiting game; one they were rapidly losing.

They were sinking.

The Vampires were rereading one of the journals each when they heard a _‘crack’_ that came from the front door being torn in two, they grabbed their respective weapons and she made for the door only to be stopped by him, he kissed her with intensity and love before letting her go.

They searched in the other’s eyes for the false reassurance they needed and went on, their hearts threatening to burst out.

Hearing five ominous bells coming from the clock as they descended the stairs.

The first thing they saw in the parlour were two winged monstrosities that towered over them by a foot and a half approximately, a blonde girl and the woman that had caused all of this, she smiled sweetly at them while holding a knife to Mina’s throat but they knew from the letters they had received that they were safe, somewhere along the coast of Spain's largest and most profitable colony.

“Do you _honestly_ believe we didn’t prepare for that?” Agatha sneered.

“Far too early in the process for me to notice before they were too far gone, alas, it was worth a try.” The Mage tilted her head, grinning from ear to ear.

The blade in her hand disappeared, leaving nothing to attest it had ever been there and she pushed the lookalike further in, who began to transform into a succubus that was clearly moulded after her. She conjured a chair and a glass of wine to her, sat in it with the authority of a Queen, one leg over the other, a ruler that enjoyed toying with her subjects, “Did you like the Crowns?” She sipped her drink.

“You’ve done your research.” He growled.

The black creatures looked at her for guidance and with a nonchalant wave of her hand their nightmare began, “It’s not every day that one finds two well-kept specimens of a dying race.” She shrugged.

It all changed, like that night months ago.

The walls around them were made of stone and the air smelled of salt, they could hear the waves as they crashed violently against the foundation of the place, the detail was meticulous and she rationalized that it would decrease as her stamina ran out and when she turned to tell him that he only nodded her way. It was impressive how much they could say without opening their mouths.

They remained in control of their minds, thankfully.

Three figures advanced towards them, weighting their options before two of them lunged each for the one of their assigned genders, an atrocious sound their steps, heavy and high pitched, like dragging their nails against glass.

Hers was at least a foot taller than her, hands contorted into a deformed thing that gave the impression of being one claw as a whole, she blocked it as it came down only to be thrown against the wall by one of its leathery wings, her silhouette becoming a part of the décor when she stood back up, her fangs tearing the skin of her cheek on impact and she spit blood out, charging towards the annoying beast.

His was a good foot and a half taller than him, more brutal in its movements, darting for him in wide motions, making a deep gash in his forearm when he covered his face from the abnormal claw that would have left him blind, it bled profusely the instant he moved the limb, so much for the wolves and the bats, god-damn it.

He lashed out and tore off the claw, only for it to grow back, unable, for all that he tried, to reach the head and by the time he had severed the other one, the first was strong enough to harm him again. With the increasing blood loss, he began to neglect closing many of them, ever so slowly he failed to notice, the depth of the wounds making it slower for the skin to close instantly.

She climbed to the ceiling and let herself fall, severing one of the wings, almost screaming in joy when it didn’t grow back but the harmed thing grasped for her in its rage, cutting her shallowly from collarbone to navel and while it lamented the pain she had caused it she fixed herself, a litany of curses leaving her tongue, her shirt torn in two.

Thank God they didn’t tire because by the fourth cut off limb she had lost what little idea she had of time, it had become more like a chore, looking for openings that were rarely there, maiming something to have to dodge the resulting anger of the animal, had it been a lesser being they fought against she would have set it a flame at the start.

Her surroundings still felt real enough but were not as perfect as they had been so she deduced than any other harm besides beheading was healed by the sorceress thus dismantling her strength, she turned to tell him so, while he stuck the whole of the blade in its stomach, pinning it to place and she barraged for it in the process, it being a great opportunity, amputating half of its left-wing before having to duck.

They were cornered and looking for a clean shot when the ground shook underneath her as the witch’s patience ran out, cracking and distorting beneath their feet, the power of it felt throughout the whole house.

She was about to stick her blade in the one that belonged to him when their weapons left their hands aggressively, summoned away, coming to rest on their enemy’s, her hand going to her dagger which remained intact and decided to not use it just yet.

“Shit.” He complained.

The two they had been fighting restrained their hands, while the third trailed behind her like a loyal pup, “I don’t know about you but my meals are quite unsavoury if pressed too far.”

Her robes billowed after her, ethereal against the moonlight; She took her chin in hand, inspecting the merchandise and Agatha spit in her face as a response, struggling against the thing that held her back, eager to run her hand through her pretty little throat.

“I had almost forgotten you had been raised a vulgar bitch.” Kirke cleaned herself with her sleeve and turned to Dracula.

She eyed him with curiosity, this man that made for the biggest loot she would ever find. He opened his mouth to speak but she silenced him, adding insult to injury. “I shall hear your request, even when I already know what it is, I do love it when men beg.”

“Four hundred years are more valuable than one and nine months, take me... I'll go voluntarily, you have my word... Please.” He said through clenched teeth, humiliated.

She laughed, the sound pretty, a feline smirk on her lips afterwards, “Of course I accept, darling, out of the goodness of my heart I shall leave her be.”

With her fingers, she motioned and the Incubus followed, taking him to the centre of the room where she tore his shirt open and cut out on his chest the runes she had on her fingers, with the first one he kept completely still but by the fifth he was screaming himself hoarse.

When he had begun screaming she bit down on her lip, unwilling to give her the pleasure of hearing her too, some of his pain she felt from the end of his bond and as her mind swam in oceans of anger and despair her eyes turned completely black.

He collapsed to the floor after some time, with the mage bleeding from her eyes and Agatha was surprised when the shattering of the glass was heard.

Hundreds and hundreds of bats swarm in, distracting her captor enough so she could climb up amidst the chaos and stab her dagger hilt deep into its neck, yanking half off with the blade and the other with her hand. She was fast about it, moving faster than she had ever done in her whole life, adrenaline pumping in her veins and she went for her sword to eliminate the other one with.

The body had just hit the floor when she already had the male’s head on her hand, out of her high the witch yelled at her, shaking with rage and they woman merged with the final third, Agatha gripped the hilt of the weapon tight.

She saw her move in the periphery of her vision, as her image changed every few seconds from her human one to the beast, when it stomped for her she was barely able to evade, getting her back opened in half, having to take a blow to the head just so she could heal the injury, losing the blade somewhere along the process.

On a careless move from her part it impaled her leg on one of the broken shards, a very large one, in fact, she cried as it broke through skin and bone, holding it as she would have her sword, both her palms cut open as a result of her taking it out, “ _You fucking wanker!_ ”

Several blows landed on various parts of her body before the moment she waited for presented itself, back to her human self she stabbed her on the chest with the dagger that had so far not left her side but to decapitate the Succubus with and was now on her hand, when her frame, a mix between the two that had existed together, fell to the ground in front of her she proceeded to bash the skull against the tile until it was nothing but a bloody pulp.

She crawled to him, her hair loose from its braid, all of her covered in blood and her hands bleeding still, painting her way across the floor in red.

He was on the floor, his face older than she had ever seen it, probably seventy or eighty, his shirt torn open and on his chest the runes that had wanted to kill him, they didn’t bleed any longer but the damage his body has sustained was great, she didn’t know if he was still alive or if the Mage had left him an empty vessel if he had suffered a different kind of death.

Agatha managed to sit and she moved him towards her, tears falling from her eyes and clouding her vision while she repeated endlessly in her mind that everything was going to be alright, she moved strands of black and white hair from his face and sobbed, harder than she ever had before on her life, she wanted to scream as she rocked his body against his chest, the thumping of his heart inaudible to her.

Her lips went to his forehead, where she whispered against his skin for him to come back, her voice was broken and shaky, worse than when she was a terrified child and her father’s hand connected to her face with a _‘smack’_ , with her digits she traced his wrinkled face trying to make them disappear on will alone, praying to God or anyone that listened for it to not be the end, her pain a toxic and immense thing on her chest, threatening to kill her.

Her mind was nothing but thick fog and she closed his eyes when she finally forced herself to stop, feeling like she had been carved open and set aflame inside; she’d go on for Vampires were unable to kill themselves but she might just drink herself sick for all eternity, live as a hermit somewhere far, far away from this house, far from all the memories they had made together since first coming here, far away from it all.

She had left her hand on his mouth and was going to close it when she felt the sharpness of his fangs, a _'thump'_ she was familiar with restart, Dracula’s body had gone into stasis, he hadn’t died, no piece of knowledge had ever made her happier, he sucked and lapped at her skin, drinking the life he needed back and when he was finally able to move she gave him her neck.

The change he underwent was extensive and it all happened before her eyes, crying once more because they had been granted mercy, holding him close. He had opened the scar on her neck, making the length twice as big than the original but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

When he finished his image was the one of the man she knew and he rested his forehead against the crook of her neck, panting, she felt the wetness from where his tears met the stained cloth as they allowed themselves to weep like the broken things they were.

He turned to look at her and cleaned her bloody tears with his thumbs from her eyes, kissing her as she smiled.

Her face was bathed by the glow of light, the sun illuminating her frame from the broken windows where the bats came through, his hand clutched hers, ignoring the discomfort of the sapphire against his palm, finding it beautiful even.

She didn’t burn and neither did he so they turned their faces to glance at it, crying once again because they had forgotten how beautiful the sunlight was.

Tears left his brown eyes freely as he whispered, his voice full of emotion; “It’s beautiful.”

“It is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note 2: It has been quite the journey hasn't it? 
> 
> Leave kudos and comments if you liked going through it!!!
> 
> Edit: This is the LAST chapter, next is the epilogue.


	13. Epilogue - Their Forever: Part One.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Okay so the Epilogue is 11-12k so I decided to split it in two because honestly as a reader myself chapters that long don't hold my attention for long... Now we have: His Before, His After, Their Now and Their Forever.

_EPILOGUE._

_THEIR FOREVER PART ONE._

_1815._

Pain was the only thing they knew for weeks; their bodies were battered, ravaged from the fight and overfeeding had proven it uselessness when they allowed themselves to snap but Vampires were resilient, incredibly so and they were the best of their kind. If there existed two beings that could escape the gates of hell after being granted passage it was the two of them, he’d make sure of it even if he had to paint the way back red with blood and adorn it with corpses.

Her knee had been broken in seven parts and the nerves from the wound on her hands suffered from an occasional ache she had learned to live with, so deep in fact that the Count was sure the glass had lacerated something, probably some nerve endings and her collarbone had been shattered from the final struggle.

His body had the eight runes open still and for the first time since he was a human he thought the pink flesh might scar, his spine had also been broken when one of the beasts had tossed him around like a ragdoll, proof of it the lines from the claws that had held on to him with a vice-like grip. He found that he couldn’t even properly sit and instead just laid in bed.

The damage received was one they wouldn’t have survived had the sun not revealed itself harmless to them, for they had to hunt before it was dark, too many wounds that needed to be closed or cured by the aid of fresh, untainted, blood. It had been salvation in more ways than one, as the sun had blessed their triumph, even when they had to crawl their way to the nearest humans, draining them in one go to only be able to stand.

Dracula thought her dead when she fainted after their third snack, had to carry her all the way back to the manor on his arms. By saving him she had aggravated her condition considerably so every day that she slept for longer than she was used to worry gnawed at him like acid, making the constant beating of her heart the only comfort he could find.

Five bones in total, three his and two hers had to be snapped into place after the first week of their recovery, few of them bent at awkward and unnatural angles, making them curse in Romanian and Dutch accordingly, to the heavens above when they seemingly were in place again. Repeating the process more than two times overall for they hadn’t found any physicians to feed on.

The bodies had to be disposed of, of course, but three weeks later the carcasses still rotted deep in the Vault, since they couldn’t muster the required strength and it didn’t help that in their weakness the memories that haunted them manifested themselves as real as they had been, blurring the thin line between reality and dreams.

Agatha had taken to vomiting in her previously untouched chamber pot, (which had served merely to appease curious human that didn’t understand the word ‘privacy’), when they were too much, while he trashed the previously untouched east wing of the manor in a frenzy, too many emotions clouding his mind and his reason, overwhelmed, only recently used to feeling at all.

But time fulfilled its promise by allowing them to heal and torn flesh turned into scars, most noticeable his chest and her hands. The ultimate evidence that their love did transcend time and that they’d die for the other without a second thought.

That she has done so, almost twice.

Alas, the sight of it didn’t bother them, having abandoned their vanity this one time for the sake of their continued existence.

When they opened the Vault, another two weeks later the stench that was inside made them gag, still, they dragged every single rotting body until they were at the gates of Westminster Abbey; Planting a careful scene that was sure to make the Father and the Sisters horrified. It also didn’t hurt to let those bothersome Curators have something to work on for once, they were too well paid to have only two crises in the year to look up to.

Dracula noticed that in the days that had passed she had become more dangerous than she used to be, the darkness she hid so well, that she restrained except in very rare occurrences was prominent in her eyes every time they had been awake. The violence that sang in her blood more vicious than he had ever felt, thought it capable of.

It had been her idea to make a mockery of the God she had come to resent but he was no idiot so he had followed along with her command, most willing to redirect his wife’s fury towards something far away from him.

A few days after the fact her hand was burned with oil from a lamp and her only response was to throw it against the wall, where it shattered with a loud _‘crack’_ , what happened next was something he thought he’d never see in his immortal life; She began to rant and curse, sneering and waving her hand dismissively the whole time, her words all in Dutch, which he understood somewhat from their shared blood.

The Countess then proceeded to wreck the place, throwing vases, chairs and everything that stood in her way and he let her, aware that no amount of it could make this part the Manor look worse than it already did, orchestrated first by his hand but when she was about to burn their home to the ground he forced himself to intervene. She almost cursed him for it but he didn’t care.

The love of his life then punched him repeatedly in the chest, for daring stop her, even stepped on his toes at one point so he’d let her go but instead the end result was her collapsing to the floor in a fit of heartbreaking sobs, the sound loud and pitched, like she was being torn open from the inside and there was nothing that could ever stop it, not even him.

He held her close, trying to protect her from what hurt her, “I almost lost you… I thought you were dead… You looked so… You were _gone_ …”

Dracula knew not what he could say so he just listened to her incoherent blabbering, caressing her cheeks when she finally looked at him and rested her forehead against his chest, “My whole life I spent looking for you and it took but a few hours to almost lose it all.” Tears fell from her eyes again, harder than before.

Agatha was about to slap him then but he caught her wrist, “ _You fucking idiot!_ You offered yourself for me when I explicitly told you _not_ to! Of all the sodding times to be a noble bastard you pick that one!”

He forced her hand to his lips, kissing the marred palm. It was a pain he knew not, hoped never to, he hadn’t felt or seen anything other than soul-crushing pain and blood before collapsing but he refused to diminish her feelings or her grief at what surely had been her worst nightmare served on a silver platter.

“Dying for you would have been my greatest deed.”

 _1816._  
  
The day the lovebirds had come back to find them on the docks, under the dim sunlight that lit the New World on January, they had all nearly cried (Dracula would deny that a single tear left his right eye if you asked, hiss under his breath at you in his baritone tone a threat for having the sheer nerve to ask), nevertheless, their bodies were finally nearly right, as well as everything else about them, almost as intact as the night they had left.

The right and the east wing of the mansion had been absolutely trashed, the latter by them and it was still being fixed, alas, a considerable amount of money had to be paid so people stopped asking questions since they couldn’t manage illusions powerful enough for such a large crew. In the meantime, they had bought a medieval castle in the country to live in, which made them very happy based solely on the number of secrets it had, of which they still had many to find.

“Coincidentally” a half an hour walk away from the Murray house.  
  
In the carriage ride, Mina had asked for the full version of the tale and it made Agatha flinch with just the thought of remembering that fateful night, the phantom of that horrible time still present behind her eyelids at times, when she would wake up abruptly in the night and he had to kiss the ghosts away. In their love for her and the girl’s unwavering insistence on knowing why they had to leave the continent for so many months, they waited until she fell asleep, which was ten minutes later, for the words to leave his mouth.  
  
He gave the girl his full account with his arms crossed, not bearing to look at her in the eye at times and when they were close to their state, which they had to sleep in for the night however much they’d rather not, he finished his tale with how Agatha had thought him dead. The blonde had opened her palms with her nails, by that point, sick at what they had gone through and with murderous rage on her chest.

She could vividly imagine what had happened upon seeing the ruins the battle had left and she had to elbow her fiancé when he almost inhaled sharply with horror at some imprints of blood on the floor that had yet to be replaced.

Agatha broke the silence later in the evening to tell them that the abbey had undergone urgent reparations and the real cause for them, Mina chuckled and Anksel laughed, both enthralled by the scene they had placed on the Priest’s gate. Had she not meet the brunette in her Before she’d swear she had never in her life been a Nun or religious at all but it didn’t matter, this suited her more, in her most humble opinion and certainly it was more entertaining than living her days in a convent.  
  
The young couple had planned on returning to her house three days after the reunion but she refused to leave, accompanying them to their new property instead and the ginger questioned her not, for as loving as she was, when they had arguments it was him that ended up on the couch. It was vast and beautiful they had to admit but since the immortal beings were on the very last of their healing they often were by themselves the whole day.

The change in the Vampires became apparent to their mortal eyes after some time, how they regained their God-like strength, senses and abilities, still they stayed some more, eager for once to be the ones to learn about the secrets and capabilities of their kind, which after much insistence they reluctantly indulged. The sole condition of the verbal contract that they, on their own find the remaining secrets that their eyes had missed.

It was Mina’s idea to start on the massive library that was there, still fully stocked with the original books, she had surmised that getting to know the history of the place was their biggest clue, so after supper every night the engaged two made their way there. Quills and parchment were scattered everywhere when the Vampires visited, yet they never reprimanded them on the mess, with Dracula just looking over their notes and correcting them where he knew the history books could not be trusted.

Their finds were never particularly intriguing or special and that made the blonde frustrated, she was sure that in a bloody castle this big there had to be a hidden gem, something the architect of the place had been tasked with protecting. She went back to their notes and made her way to the dungeons alone, convinced that there was something there by the strange structure of the place and after some days she noticed every cell had three to five words written in code.

Restless as she was she two took it upon herself to pass the time constantly there, translating the words and testing the things that had already been found. On a cloudy day, they found a weird wall that was a path to an opening that read; “Donum dei est scriptor. Dei arbitrium est scriptor.”

Unfortunately, they got trapped inside; She pouted the whole time until they found tunnels and at the end of them was what seemed like a treasury. It took them some more hours to find the exit to the main room but instead of resting, they ran back to alert the older couple.

The jewels within seemed to have belonged to royalty, based on the sheer extravaganza of them, gold coins littered the floor, boxes overflowing with valuable items, it was hard to walk without tripping into something but they managed.

The next hours were spent by the Vampires putting on paper an archive of what was inside and at some point, they had offered the couple half of it but when the stubborn girl waved the idea away like a fly the tenth time they insisted on it, the finally let it go, much to the disappointment of the Captain.

Mina was going through a chest when she felt something on her head, she raised her fingers and touched the foreign object, lowering it after so she could see it; it was a tiara. Agatha took it from her hands and placed it again on her head, putting a lock of hair that had fallen from her braid behind her ear.

“You would have made for a lovely Princess.” She said, walking back into the embrace of Dracula and she rested her head against his chest, both of them looking at her with adoring eyes.

“And you both would have made for awe-inspiring Monarchs.”

_1817._

The day came to give Mina away at the altar and it began with Agatha rising the sleeping Princess from her magical slumber by shaking her, for she slept like the dead, “Five more minutes.” Came her husky voice, the older woman opened the curtains in response, letting the blazing July sun in and finally the girl threw her pillow at her, which she caught inches away from her face.

“For the temper, you have you could actually pass for our child.” The Vampire scoffed.

“The suffering would have been worth it on the inheritance alone but since you both refuse to die, what am I to do?” The blonde retorted, always moody after waking up.

Miss Murray had insisted on only having the brunette help her get ready that day and she fuzzed over her at every turn, much like she hoped her real mother would have done. Tying the laces on the horrid corset she insisted on using tight but not enough so she could pass out, braiding her locks in this way or the other, changing it every time she hated them until loose waves turned out to be the right choice. Patient through it all.

The older couple had both helped plan the wedding with the same level of involvement and devotion a parent would their firstborn and for the first time in three years, everything was right in her world, like Vanessa had promised it would be again. Perhaps everyone she had loved couldn’t be here but she was content with those who could, grateful it was them, the immortals that couldn’t go longer than an hour without bickering about something, no matter how petty.

When they were done she took her hand, feeling the large scar upon contact and took her to the room across the hall where after entering both women stared at the garden from the window of what had served some many years as her brother’s room. The one where the locket had been and though she didn’t dare ask, the longing in her eyes was clear.

Agatha kissed her forehead, tenderly, with understanding, not asking for an explanation even with her overly curious nature, aware that some secrets were meant to remain as that. They stayed there in comfortable silence while the ghosts that had once haunted her replayed the scenes she now fondly treasured until she was strong enough to say goodbye again.

She hugged her then and that startled the woman, who let out a _‘oomph’_ sound that made the younger one giggle but after it, she hugged her back just as tightly. When they let go they returned to the master bedroom and she fastened with pins the last piece in the ensemble to her hair.

“Whoever it is you’ve lost, I assure you, they are as proud of you as us.” A tear left her right eye, which the brunette cleaned with her thumb.

It took them a considerable amount of time to descend the stairs without falling down since the train of the dress was so vast. They crashed with framed paintings every once in a while, the dress the older one had only serving to restrict her movement through the narrow space but after three times where they almost pushed the other one down, they finally got it right.

They mounted the carriage after that. Jack, now back as their chauffeur was waiting for them with a smile on his face and a lily on his hand, he asked if they could add to the simple bouquet and they did. Mina kissed his cheek and he blushed a red so deep that it looked almost purple.

Already in the Church were the groom and the best man, Dracula put his hands on the boy’s shoulders, counting the time until the bride arrived. He turned to look him in the eye, smiling with a hint of fangs and slightly bloodshot eyes, a terrifying, unnatural thing that the former Prince had only seen once. “If you do anything to make her unhappy or find yourself preferring other women’s company in beds that are not your own or dare raise your hand at her, you may find yourself being cut apart alive and we will make it last.”

With his wide, fearful eyes he stepped back, his mouth a little open, “Yes, sir.” The ginger blurted out.

“Glad we have an understanding, son.” He patted his back with his supernatural strength, making him lose a little breath, a thinly veiled threat and a reminder of what they were.

The two women arrived not long after, with the blonde dressed in a dress of crimson silk, (they had come to learn she was cheeky like that), her hair fell on her shoulders in loose waves, pretty against the sun that came from the windows and proud on her head was the tiara they had gifted her with.

The groom almost wept at the sight and his heart was warm in a pleasant way on his chest, he smiled so hard he was sure he looked like a fool.

Agatha walked her down the aisle like the girl had made her promise she would, she squeezed her arm before letting go, sending the cheerful man a look that meant nothing but trouble and went to sit beside her partner, “Did you threaten him?” She murmured, accommodating her dress and rolling her eyes when the Priest began to talk about how God’s mercy had made it all possible.

“I did.” He assured her, tapping his nails against his thigh, clearly as bored with the sermon as her.

“Good.”

“I’ll be damned if you make me marry you in a Church.” The Count objected, frowning and rubbing his eyes, still uncomfortable in the presence of so many crosses.

“I’d rather wait until we find another way.” She pointed out, crinkling her nose at the mere thought.

“A miracle from your _merciful_ God! We agree on something!” He beamed, throwing his head back.

Yes, they knew that the gentry that had been invited would talk, for they had found that many married women possessed the same capability of hearing than them but he had never been that good at restricting himself in public.

They’d just blame it at the wedding jitters parents had, on the little bit of liquid courage they supposedly took to cope, it was impossible after all, that the sapphire that sat on her left hand meant nothing at all.

The Father looked pointedly at them, displeasure clear in his eyes even if he couldn’t properly hear them and Agatha merely winked his way, whilst the warlord snorted, highly amused.

“A miracle would be that you learned some self-control, one would think you possessed some in your _advanced_ age.”

_1830._

He was holding the toddler and she was holding the child. Mina was about to be a mother once more; they had come as quickly as their feet could carry them when it began, joyous to be grandparents again, so much so they forgot the illusions the children had never seen them without and they knew they would have to fix it but the venom that filled them with dread was too high in their systems for them to manage.

Somewhere along things went wrong; It had been twenty hours since her water broke and she was ten into dangerous territory, they tried to distract the Westergaard-Murray heirs, to take them away somewhere they couldn’t hear their mother screaming but having inherited the one trait that the four adults shared in equal measure it was a lost battle from the beginning.

Anksel was worried sick, drinking from a glass with whiskey for the third time they had ever seen in seventeen years and there was nothing they could say to make it better so they helped in the one area they had been always good at handling; the two babies.

Agatha painted the paper in vivid colours whilst he told them high tales based on the reality they had to hide and they looked as mesmerized as any other time.

When Vanessa had been born eight years ago Mina had called for them, asking for her children to never know the truth of their family and the danger that came along with it, they both complied without a second thought and tended to her as lovingly as ever. 

The years passed and their appearances became ever more haggard, (a large blow to his ego), now in their false late sixties and the illusions ever more complex, draining them in increased measure but it was a wish they could not ever consider not granting.

As the sounds from the master bedroom became more unnerving they were both forced to induce on them sleep, tucking each in their respective bedrooms, a little dizzy with the effort of battling their consciousness, which demanded of the two siblings to be present.

He considered doing the same to the anxious father but Agatha, sensing his intentions just shook her head 'no' and he respected the man’s right to be present should his child and wife die.

One hour became two and that became five and that became ten but the wailing of an infant was finally heard, at the sound, the three of them felt like crying and the midwives rushed out of the room with a baby girl and they went in to see their daughter, disguises finally on.

Two of the five tried employed to stop them but the three sent murderous looks their way, self-preservation winning the battle in the end.

Their girl was unconscious but alive, for now, and that was all that mattered to them but the diagnosis wasn’t good, for all accounts she wouldn’t last the next night, would be extremely lucky to see dawn. 

With the news heavy on their souls, they retired to the privacy of the kitchen, tears were beginning to leak from her eyes and he kissed her temple, brown orbs and blue coming to an unspoken understanding. “We can save her but you have to know the price.”

“What do you mean you can save her?!” Cried Anksel, rubbing the nape of his neck, trying hard not to punch the wall.

“Blood is lives… Our blood might stand a chance to heal her but she will never again fall pregnant… We know you two wanted at least five children and that all her pregnancies have been a struggle but it’s the only option.” The Countess worried.

“She will convulse and pass out, be like that for hours. It will be painful and dangerous. Two of us will have to take the children to the castle so someone stays, it’s a delicate process, best overlooked by someone who has gone through it.” Explained truthfully the Count.

“Will she Turn?” He asked, defeated.

“Only if she dies within a three-month span.” She replied, biting her lips so hard that even without her fangs she managed to pierce the unnaturally thick skin.

“Do it.”

When the women were finally dismissed the brunette quite literally threw them both out the house, kissing the little boy and the girl that were on asleep on his arms and the newborn that rested against her father’s chest. Giving Dracula a peck on the mouth as she saw them off.

Back in the room, she waited until she could no longer hear the sounds of the carriage, adamant on cleaning the blonde up first. She changed her blood-soaked clothes and with a piece of cloth wiped the sweat off her body, preparing her for what was to come, “I won’t let you go.” She sighed.

Her nails opened up her fading scar and she pressed her palm to her mouth, she felt her tongue lapping at the skin instantly, drinking greedily from her but she forbade the girl from drinking the amount her body was demanding to minimise the risk.

It was the one thing she could hate them for, she had always despised the idea of becoming a Vampire.

Blue eyes awakened for the first time in a day and a half when she was finished, Mina asked for her baby but the older woman just shushed her and closed her eyes.

The convulsions started with frightening speed but she was quicker, had already prepared for it, was expecting the inherent aggression it would arrive with and with one motion she had her gagged at the mouth, lest she cut her tongue out or break her teeth. 

The blonde trashed against her violently, managing to hurt her a few times and after some hours she lost the count of time, she had hit her with the back of her head, making her nose bleed but still she never let her out of her hold, putting her hair out of her face when her golden locks came out of place.

When she stopped it was night again and she called on the wolves to their home, so they would know it was safe to come back. She was reading by her bedside when her enhanced senses told her by the sound of the wheels against the mud that they were close, Agatha made up the beds that had been left in a hurry and was at the door when they knocked. She nodded her head to the two and took the sleeping baby in her arms.

The three made their way to where she was, after making sure the children were playing but she stopped them before they could go in, “She’s much better now.”

The ginger hugged her and kissed her cheek, careful not to smother the bundle that she held against her chest. It was something he had never done, always keeping a polite distance from his in-laws, frightened since the wedding day that they might bite at the slightest marital mishap. “Thank you.”

“She must never know; she’ll drive herself mad thinking she’ll Turn.” Dracula warned, looking warily at the white door.

He nodded and they entered, waking her up intentionally with the sound, putting the slumbering girl in her arms so the baby could finally look at her mother and eat. “What’s her name, my sweet?”

Mina only smiled.

“Agatha.”

_1878._

They had seen the hairs in their heads grey and for once, time had become the enemy, one they could not fight, so instead, they tried to ignore what was increasingly obvious.

Not revealing anything in their faces to the three that had grown, who now thought of them as an Uncle and Aunt, having buried their grandparents eight years before, a horrible affair to watch but a necessary one.

A promise fulfilled.

Agatha and he had seen it all, from when they fought over the pettiest things, who would hold certain toys, to when they had been introduced by their mother as the leaders of the foundation, swarmed by applause.

But the passing of their parents was inevitable and the two Vampires had willingly forgotten so.

Their skin not changing in the same way, nothing in them changing at all.

They were rocks against the cruel sea and it had come to drown those they loved.

As the years passed the changes were more noticeable in the couple, little things that they wouldn’t have noticed without living in close proximity, an ache when the cold was too bitter, breathlessness after running in the sand or swimming in the sea.

They had tried to ignore it, how the contrast became more pronounced every day, the two frozen in time and their family flowing along with it.

Mortals that had been dying since the day they had been born and Vampires that even with all their power couldn’t hope to stop it.

A decade had turned into two and then three and then five. All the while a shadow that loomed over them while they lived in blissful ignorance, growing larger and larger but Death and they were too close for the immortals not to notice. It was a harder thing to ignore than they had liked to make themselves believe.

It knocked first on his door; His wife had woken up one day, her body a little plump but her eyes still the same. to his breathless body, Anksel had passed away in his sleep and when the new coachman had come to them they left immediately for the seaside house. Heartbroken sobs filled the home, fuelled by the wicked pain of loss, they came into the room and joined her in the floor.

He had loved her well and they were eternally grateful for it.

Vanessa, Vlad and Agatha were away in Romania, curious as they were they had wanted to trace the man that a funded the Foundation they led and so they had left, seeking answers they would never find for they had made sure that the extent of their control was enough to wipe the slightest trace that existed of their former lives, true to their word, even in that.

Mina didn’t last much after his casket touched the dirt, vanishing from life two weeks after, the pain too great for someone of her age and when the brunette entered the room with a tray in her hands to give the widow breakfast the only thing that she could do was scream.

Hearing the sound, he knew, that she was gone and Agatha screamed and cried herself sick against his chest while tears left his eyes for the first time in five decades.

The Count and the Countess held the body of their child against themselves, overwhelmed with pain and grief as they wailed, unable to cope with it, with her being truly gone and two days later they buried her beside her husband like she had asked them to.

Dread haunting them as they spent the next month visiting the graves on the daily, waiting to see if any of the two came back, stakes in their pockets for if it did happen. 

Agatha had prayed to God for the first time since Budapest; if he was as merciful as everyone had told, he’d take them, let them be together and not wake up.

It worked.

When the children came back they saw it happen from the side-lines as they said their goodbyes, the siblings vacating their family home afterwards, too many ghosts in its corners for them to be able to stay.

The watched over them in the shadows until they deemed them happy enough to be left behind.

The locket and the tiara they had kept; She had given her permission for when the day came. It was a selfish thing they allowed themselves to do, knowing they would regret it the rest of their eternal lives if they let those two items go.

The loss of Anksel and Mina was still heavy on their minds, on their souls, five months after. He had once heard that losing one’s child was the worst possible pain on earth and the drunken sailor that had told him so had been proven right.

It did not matter that the girl was not of their blood, for he knew that he had loved her more than any of the ones he had sired and he knew too, that whilst his Bride had never had a child she had loved the girl as her own, possibly even more than him.

He saw it in the way she would never take off the golden locket, how her nails pierced the already marred skin when something reminded her too much of her, how if one looked too closely at her blue orbs there was a pain that refused to leave.

Dracula mourned too in his own way too, in silence while he replayed in his mind his fondest memories of her and he had commanded the gardens of the London Manor, (Where they had resided in after since faking their deaths), to be filled with orange tulips.

If his human life had taught him something, it was that the only thing that would outlast memory was the earth beneath his feet.

Their grief turned out to be a poisonous and all-consuming thing.

Finally, when the memories became too much and the pain remained too sharp, they left, boarding a ship to Poland, since Dracula had never again agreed with Spain since the incident with the Cardinal.

The sea carried them safely to where they needed to be.

It took a month to get there and like they had arrived in England it was just the two of them that disembarked the ship.

They settled in a countryside house and repeated the same process as before, their things already there when they first opened the door. 

It didn’t take much for the environment to turn familiar, aided by gorgeous scenery around them.

They were reading in the snow-filled garden, with snowflakes on their person when he said, “She would have loved it here.”

“Indeed. She would have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note 2: I have numerical dyslexia (I see numbers wrong lmao, you might have noticed I write them rather than use them normally) so my dumbass thought the story happened in 1813 and it's way TOO late for me to change it so just bear with it. 
> 
> “Donum dei est scriptor. Dei arbitrium est scriptor.” means "God's gift. God's will."


	14. Epilogue - Their Forever: Part Two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Thank you all... My icy heart has tonight been somewhat thawed. Thank you.
> 
> Disclaimer: Mentions of WW2 and changed facts, I do NOT mean to offend anybody with it.

_EPILOGUE._

_THEIR FOREVER PART TWO._

_1924._

The splendour of the twenties was lived by them to the fullest, save for Agatha refusing to cut her hair, in America. Short skirts and lavish parties, the first automobile that he had the pleasure of driving, a smile on his face as the wind blew against their faces in the black convertible, making the lavender smell of her hair hit his nostrils the whole way.

The electrical lights of the city shining in the night as they looked at it from the vast gardens of their new home, one of the biggest they had but nowhere near the most luxurious, which remained the London Manor.

What a pity the ship they had travelled in had sunk in such a horrific manner twelve years before, the Titanic had been a wonder.

The prohibition had proven itself to be an incredible source of revenue, so they joined the big leagues on fake names whilst maintaining their accounts on banks that were not American. For all the economic achievements made by the country they resided in, he had learned that after a period of great success things tended to crash.

They’d rather not lose any gold when the time came for their neighbours to not have anything at all.

The Foundation was still run by the heirs of their grandchildren, who had all passed away by now, safe in the family crypt they had built for the moment of their demise, resting alongside their mother and father and their spouses. Having blessedly inherited from their parents the ability to not resurrect.

Neither of them truly remembered the weeks after the three deaths, drowning themselves in alcohol each time they had to put to rest one of the children they had seen grow old. The loss too deep, almost like losing Mina over and over again.

Memories could be a blessing but also a curse but they moved on, choosing to keep the good over the bad, keenly aware that any other choice would likely plant the seed of the insanity they had successfully battled so far. It was hard work not turning into the feral and insane monsters so easily associated with their kind.

He was reminiscing and looking at her from the music room when something told him now was the time, it had been less than a decade since marriage not officiated by the Church had been established and he’d like to give her a white gold band to match the sapphire that he had given her so many moons ago on the Demeter.

Dracula closed his book with a soft _‘thud’_ , yes he’d like it very much, calling her his wife and having it be true, finally his in every possible way that existed on this earth.

He went to the stables where she was putting away Toto. Her face flushed and ringlets of brown framing her lovely face, blue orbs that looked at him with love the moment the end of her bond told her he was close.

It was as shocking to him as it was for her when they noticed in the past few years that the invisible link only grew. Now, it was nothing but pleasant, being connected like that.

The Count gave her a tender kiss on the cheek and told her he’d arrive home by eight.

He proceeded to grab his keys, turning on the engine with a grin on his face, the machine roared and he turned the wheel, making way for the poshest part of New York City, where the most expensive and fine shops where.

If he had kept something from his days as a monarch it was his love for the better things in life and he’d be damned if anything he gave to Agatha was anything but that.

The man that helped him was most excited, perceiving from the quality of his clothes alone that this was a costumer he could not afford to leave on his own, the small man (at least compared to him) showing him an incredible range of rings, from the ones that European royalty would use to the more discreet but still alike in beauty.

He choose a thin band, adorned with two encrusted diamonds and one ruby, his bearing the same design if somewhat thicker. The Count was happy with it, having found something that would not clash with both their styles and her previous ring. After he paid he requested to have them engraved to which the vendor complied with a subtle nod.

The next week he spent planning the perfect evening, stupid as it was he had to start from scratch several times, many of his idea too extravagant for the Countess to truly enjoy and it was her night. He settled for proposing in a candlelit dinner on one of the ships he had recently acquired, fitting, he supposed, for their story had begun at sea.

It took him another two weeks for everything to be perfectly prepared and he was satisfied with the end result, tulips and narcissus hung from every corner of the deck, candles lit every single available space and as the grand finale he pulled out one of the greatest vintages he had ever been able to find; What remained of Mozart as their meal.

Now, convincing her was another matter altogether, so he had to resort to old fashioned bribery to get her to come, promising her that she’d get a car of her own but as astute as she was she knew that something was about to happen when her heels met the wood.

As far as the eye could see it was a fairy-tale scene, the start shining above, even if somewhat dimmed from what they had been a hundred years ago.

Before any comments could leave her lips he took her hand in his and they began a silent waltz, with an orange glow illuminating his features every higher function left her mind, lost in those eyes she had moved heaven and earth for.

As instinct she rested her head against his chest as they moved, more enamoured than ever with the ‘ _thumping_ ’ of his heart, she loved those moments, where everything in the world was alright.

He moved from her embrace to retrieve a glass of blood and upon further inspection, it smelt better than anything she had drunk before. She raised her eyebrow, an unspoken question in her gaze, the Count merely shrugged before saying; “Mozart.”

“Will I play the violin afterwards?” She teased.

“Probably not, since its very old.”

She sipped, tasting ambrosia on her palette and she was about to say something when he kissed her, so full of love and joy that she almost wept.

Then he got on one knee, “You are the love of my life, the woman that gave me back the sun and gifted me a child of my own, even when our darling Mina shared not our blood… Agatha Van Helsing, will you do this old man the honour, of officially becoming Countess Dracula?”

For the second time on her life, happy tears left her eyes and amongst the commotion on her heart she managed a weak, “Yes.”

He hugged her, kissing her senseless and he placed on the same finger as the sapphire one of the loveliest things she had ever seen. 

She managed to see some engraving before it settled comfortably against her skin. “What does it say?”

“Our eternity.” 

More droplets of water fell from her eyes at that.

"My Prince."

"My Queen."

_1945._

They were in Russia when it began, the biggest bloodshed ever known by humankind, they thought they had seen the worst of it when the first world war started but this was much, much, worse, so bad that it was more horrid than any fragment of any nightmare that they could ever conjure.

These beasts that had a bloodlust greater than them and a crueller heart that the one left by centuries of loss and history.

The one good thing it did though was that it had brought the extremely well hid Vampires out, making them both finally realize it was not a dying race. All of them resolved to help, wealth was something that in war helped and the so-called monsters banded together to fight and to influence what they could, to take out the ones that had proven themselves to be even more deadly than them.

If travel and knowledge were good at doing something, it was erasing the ignorance that fuelled hate.

With the new technologies at the tip of their fingers, it didn’t take much for the first fifty to turn into two hundred and finally, after they were done, five hundred.

The eldest ones taking the roles of leaders, devising groups of what was most needed and mentors of the things they had so few months to learn, coming together with the wisdom they had acquired from their eternal years and the brutality that some had never left behind in their human lives.

Annoyingly enough most of the bunch treated them like they were the de facto Royalty, which his wife had told him decades ago he was described as in most of the legends she had found. He also happened to be the eldest at five hundred and thirty-two.

Influenced also from the book that had been published in eighteen ninety-seven and the idiots had proven Agatha right, who had complained when in the bookshop several copies of the book had arrived, saying that the man had only escaped certain death for having the wit to appeal to his inflated ego.

So three hundred Vampires from all the world met, left the shadows and travelled together, to where the fight was the thickest, to where secrets were held most safely and to where the key players planned the movements of their pawns.

Able to pass as generals and whatever was needed of them with their illusions alone.

They cherish their existing numbers, knowing that at least thirty per cent will decay in the next twenty, become feral and mad. It almost seems like fate built its supplies of mutated flesh for them to be able to fight.

Super soldiers like him that massacred the enemy in battles thought lost and those that were already a predicted win, people that had no qualms about leaving a massive body count behind. Efficient killers that moved with stealth and grace on the battlefield, their weapons an extension of themselves, the largest group.

Informants that could charm and tempt like snakes, people that could extract the most useful information out of the toughest humans, making them spill their guts willingly for them. Those that knew the times when to smuggle people out by making themselves pass as ambassadors by day, the medium-sized group.

And their most elite, like Agatha, that could manage the arts of the mind after studying them for less than three months from a former nurse, that had discovered the true potential of their kind.

Manipulation, memory reversal and change at large scale, physiological torture by breaking their sense of reality, infiltration, incapacitation, mind control. Most dangerous of all; torture by blood, they could make them feel anything they wanted, as real as the earth beneath their feet, a plethora of creative ways of torture that left no trace of it, that they could erase from their memories with ease, making them believe nothing had happened at all.

The nine that could manage it, working in the most dangerous and close-knit circles of the Nazis.

In those years they were not able to see each other much but ending it was more important.

The days blurred and their hands held more blood than they had ever thought possible but it was a necessary evil and one they were determined to see through.

He was reminiscing about it and cleaning his bayonet when Charles came into his tent, one of the youngest Turned and the fastest to begin his decay into madness, dying in the first world war, his uniform more bloodied and muddier than he had seen it in the morning, “What do you want, boy?”

“Her Royal Highness, Princess- I mean- Goddammit all- Countess Agatha has successfully managed to replace the lover- fuck me- the secretary of the Fuhrer, Sir.”

“Shit.”

╌

She was fooling around with him in his office, (one of the most disgusting things she had _ever_ done, the man had four remaining teeth for God’s sake), having made herself pass as his new wife, the real one already dead and hidden behind the sofa by the door and her alibi another unconscious woman that sat in the desk just outside. It had taken her a year and a half to get that close to him without raising suspicion but finally, she was here.

The rumours that Hitler had planned to escape to Argentina had become common knowledge to the closest to him, the panic at the murder of Mussolini only making them more widely distributed and she was here to stop it before it happened. She and her whole kind would be damned if they had done everything was for nothing and the wanker to fled to South America. Agatha only had this one chance to stop it and to flee herself to France the same night.

“The two of us will escape in a submarine tonight. It has been decided and prepared for.” He said, attempting to nibble her earlobe quite pathetically.

That did it for her, her disguise fell and he gasped but she responded with a smirk, her gun already aimed at his head, “You won’t, what you will do is write your will and then I’ll have some fun with you, before pulling the trigger and fooling the bunch of morons that work for you into thinking you are an even more pathetic sod, one that killed himself.”

How exquisite; he tried to resist her, she could feel it in his blood, the want to scream and to curse and to have her killed that very instant but she was better, more dangerous than him. A skilled predator that had discovered his closest kept secrets and sent them to England, to Russia, to every country that was in the allied forces and even when he could shout for fifty men to save him that instant, his hand instead moved to write what she commanded him to.

He chipped one of the four remaining teeth he had trying to stop her, his eyes wild as he read the words and the commands he would leave behind, some of them so humiliating she knew the document would be redacted and the first copy burned, a lie fabricated. His supposed reasoning as mad as the rest of the world knew him to be, whilst his delusions turned the rottenness into greatness.

When he was finished she tortured him like she had never done anyone, her power magnified by the hatred and the memories and the loss and grief she had consumed and seen in other people, by the rumours that had been true and the ones that had not been so, for the things he had done and the ones he did not, for the bloodstains that adorned everything these past years, for the terror and the desperation. For all of it, she didn’t allow him to scream or look away from her eyes the whole time.

She set the scene before pulling the trigger and screamed like a banshee when she had to pretend to find his body after the sound of the gunshot, saw the chaos that ensued and pulled the last strings for everything to collapse.

Agatha saw how the streets were quiet as consequence, the people reading themselves for what was to come, the house growing smaller as she flew back to her husband with her nine sisters.

Taking the helmet off, her boots touching the ground she sensed him close for the first time in three years and then she saw his eyes, the brown orbs she had never allowed herself to forget every restless night. They ran to each other and he twirled her around, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, when he stopped he looked at her and kissed her deeply, smiling against her lips, separating from her only to glare at the Vampires that stared, who ran from the scene then, not stupid enough to test his temper.

“Is it over?”

“It’s over.”

_1969._

It took him two years shy of two hundred years to take her to his castle, which stood untouched by neither of the previous wars, the stone strong in the time it had waited for him to come back, the furniture preserved and covered in cobwebs and dust, all painted grey by those two things. The scene he left when he boarded the Demeter the same they encountered when opening the door.

She examined everything like she was in a museum, awe and wonder behind her every motion, questioning him about this and that, arguing when the answers are not to her liking, her mouth moving so fast many words he wasn’t able to comprehend. Her biggest inquiry how the bloody hell did he ever learn his way around, still she ran up the stairs so fast that it took them the rest of the day to find each other.

In those hours she was alone she opened every door and every drawer, finding relics in each of them, it was not that she doesn’t know who the man she married was but some things he had told her were so grand she always wanted validation for his words and she had finally found it.

It also happened to be obvious that he had always had a soft spot for art, paintings and furniture that everyone she knew thought lost to time, occupying every spot she could find.

When the sun came down she found the portrait of the architect tossed carelessly in the floor, a door open next to it and she followed the path the stairs created when she saw the boxes where he used to house his Brides she covered her mouth to stop the scream that had left her.

She turned and saw him, knowing that the sound had drawn him to her. A darkness she wasn’t used to clouding his features, his regret flooding their open and magnified bond.

The Countess saw the flashes of the many women that had resided inside as clearly as he did when they all ran through his mind and no matter how hard she tried, her horror she couldn’t conceal from her eyes. Instead, she turned to the cages, avoiding his gaze until she could put herself together.

Unable to shake the morbid curiosity that filled her, she ran her hands through the glass, which painted her fingers with dust and opened the door on one of them, the furthest to the left.

Just as she was about to peak in a hand shot forward and grabbed her by the collar, the creature opened its mouth to scream at her in a language she didn’t comprehend, flesh so old staring back at her that he didn’t even look like that in the mirror. She felt herself being pulled back by her arm, his hand moving her ten steps back with a firm grip, she heard wood being snapped but she couldn’t register it, it was like trying to capture smoke with her hands.

She came back to him shaking her, repeating her name in a sweet tone, trying to not further frighten her. The carcass lay on the floor, staked and when he saw that she was out of her shock he let her go.

Dracula began punching the stone wall with fury, until his knuckles turned purple and bloody, only when the skin was extremely tender did he stop.

A dishevelled mess turned into flesh and bone.

Agatha approached him carefully, taking his hands in hers, careful to not touch the wound and she kissed his palms before guiding one to cup her cheek, “I was a beast.”

She sighed, unwilling to lie to him, “You were but you’ve spent two centuries atoning for it.”

“I will stake them all, the ones in the boxes… they deserve peace after so many years.” He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against hers.

“I’ll help.” He was about to protest but she silenced him with a raised hand, “I distinctly remember vowing to love you for better or for worse.”

It was a nasty business, opening each of the many boxes and staking every undead inside of them, the smell was the worst things her nostrils had ever encountered and she could understand how a still human Mister Harker had fainted at the sight. Had she seen this whilst still mortal she would have surely been put in bedlam afterwards.

Even with the two of them, it was a long process, some of the creatures turning to ash at the slightest touch of the wood and some manhandling her before she was able to stake them. Those that screamed at her in many tongues were the worst, the sound nothing but a high pitched moan, no trace of the person they once were left behind, nothing but madness left in its stead.

They were finishing when a particularly large man came out, lunging for her, trapping her behind its weight and trying to bite her, a decomposed Vampire, dear God how could he have missed this one? Sickly looking and mad its fangs surfaced, the strength it possessed enough for her to only be able to dodge, “Darling!” She screamed to the tunnels that led to the other room.

“What?” He hollered back at her.

“I need a little help!”

Agatha heard his steps as he came towards her but her main focus was on stopping the thing from severing her head off by gagging it with the pointed piece of wood, it had managed to pull her by her hair and she was about to hit it in the groin when he finally arrived, “Fuck.”

Now Dracula’s full strength was something she rarely got to see on display but he grabbed the other Vampire by the head, throwing it to the wall, it emitted a groan upon contact and by then he already had a plan, he grabbed one of the discarded boxes, hitting it on the head, blocking its’ sight and staked it in the chest.

He returned and offered his hand which she took, dusting herself off when upright, “Are you all right?” The Count questioned her, concerned.

“Yes.”

“Was the castle everything you expected?”

“Certainly more… ah… _lively_ than I originally imagined.”

_2020._

She scanned the card that opened the metal door to her laboratory in the foundation, having given her secretary explicit instructions to not let anyone in. The woman had not even looked up from the computer, the reflection on her glasses told her she was on Facebook and just muttered a bored; “Yes, Dr Van Helsing.” Agatha rolled her eyes and pinched her nose, a habit she had picked up after being with Dracula two hundred and forty-nine years.

Sitting on her chair she sighed, at least she wasn’t ‘Countess Agatha’, ‘Madam Dracula’ or worst of all, how the rest of the underground community of Vampires addressed her, ‘Her Royal Highness, Princess Dracula’, here.

It wasn’t her fault she had married a man that was six centuries old and recently a pop culture icon.

The manuscript of that bloody book should have been burned, she really should have killed the author but he had been so charismatic at the time, appealing to her curiosity and to his ego. At least she had been turned into a man there, one that had used her maiden name and had obviously not married the Count.

Without turning on the lights she sat in her chair and rummaged through the papers that were inside the cabinet on her desk. She had always been curious to know about the First and after all these years she had finally found something; A woman named Rheya that created the two original bloodlines, two sons. One the guard that spared her life after being convicted and left to die for not giving herself to a King that had desired her and the other, the son of said King, that had taken her transformation as a sign of the Gods.

She had been killed by the latter and the reason why they knew not.

Her remains had been exhumed from somewhere near Italy, she and some of the higher-ups of the foundation, aka Vampires that disguised themselves as Doctors and Scholars. They had taken on the task of protecting the body, along with making a full genetic profile, which had been easy, since she was perfectly preserved and looked like she was sleeping, instead of dead.

She was going through her known family tree when she heard something shuffle.

“I’m trying to work, you know.” The brunette articulated, knowing who she was talking to, “Did Cecilia let you in?”

“I climbed through the window, love.” He acknowledged, his back pressed against the wall, a smirk in his lips.

“The window?!” She got up, opening it and looking down, slamming it close afterwards, “Are you insane? That was stupid of me, of course, you are.”

She took off her glasses, rubbing her temples, “What if someone saw you?! How many times do I have to tell you that every opportunity for you to show off is one for us to have to get full-time hackers, which by the way are getting costlier as time goes on and I refuse to spend hours on end to get the footage off the web.”

“It’s not my fault human nosiness evolved into technological advances that capture our every move and publish it on the internet.” He interjected, hands in his pockets.

“That’s not the point!” She cried, frustrated.

“Or perhaps you have forgotten that staying alone in the Manor is incredibly dull since I have to avoid Mycroft from dragging me into his petty politics.” The Count deflected.

“You are the oldest Vampire known, it’s obvious everyone wants to make you do something you don’t want to!” The Countess sneered, “And you almost got me to sidetrack, don’t think I didn’t notice. You are six hundred years old and still behave like a child, a spoiled one at-“

He crossed the room and kissed her, silencing her, she melted into him, kissing him back just as passionately, opening her mouth to let his tongue in, her hands at the nape of his neck playing with the small hairs there. He purred when her sharp nails slightly scratched him and he looked at her with lust clouding his eyes, his gaze focused on her as she bit her lower lip.

He moved them and with his arm threw everything off her desk, “That’s the second one this month.”

“I’ll buy you a new one tomorrow.”

Agatha sat in the edge, legs wide opened and he growled, his hand went to her white lab coat, pushing it down and throwing it somewhere when it was finally off. His mouth latched to her neck, where the scar remained to this day and he sucked and sucked until the skin was purple. She moaned and opened his shirt slowly, button by button until it was on the floor.

She could feel his hardness against her stomach, it made her whimper as he took her blouse and her bra off, his calloused fingers stroking her nubs until they were perfectly hard, looking at her in the eye all the while, sinful sounds leaving her mouth.

The best decision they had made in decades was having the room soundproofed, considering the many people that were outside of it at every hour of the day, every hour of the night.

Impatient she laid back in the wood, her weight resting on her forearms so she could be able to see him as he rid himself of his remaining clothes, when he was finished he stood proud before her, a smug smile in his lips, like that day in Budapest.

He moved towards her slowly, predatory, surprisingly gentle as he took off her heels and her skirt, making them equal in their nakedness, his hands caressing the length of her legs.

There was a wicked glint in his eye then and his mouth began kissing her inner thigh, his face so close to her centre she could feel his hot breath against her curls, she dug her nails in her palms in anticipation, stars behind her eyelids when his tongue was at her pearl. Her husband moved his tongue up and down her slit, flicking it when he met her nub, lapping at her folds until she was nothing but raw nerves.

He knew she was close by how pitched her moans became since they had danced this dance so many times before. The wicked man inserted in her two of his fingers, careful to not hurt her with his nails, curling them inside her and pumping in and out, augmenting the force of his ministrations on both ends until she was so wet, she would have to use a baby wipe to get dressed again.

Then lighting ran through her veins, pleasure and euphoria overwhelming her senses.

While she was coming off her high he inserted himself inside, his length sheathed, stretching her muscles, filling her and making them both groan. She was still in the aftershocks when he began thrusting, his hands holding and guiding her hips as she instinctively moved her pelvis in sync with him, meeting him every time. Her breasts jiggling with the force of it.

The desk moved with the strength of their coupling and he began to pant as he increased his pace, which made her bite on her hand, delirious with bliss and tightening even further around him, “Mine, mine, mine, _mine_.” He repeated like a prayer, escalating his pace even further, both reaching their peak, his cum filling her as she screamed his name.

Her knees were still weak when he turned her, her sensitive nipples hot against the wood she rested against, the thumping of her heart so hard it might burst out, _“Pleas_ e.” She begged, her eyes closed and her head cradled by her hands.

He was in her in seconds, one of his hands on her waist and the other massaging one of her breasts, he grunted and she panted, sounds they couldn’t control forming a primitive symphony in the room, the table that was incrusted to the floor threatening to break from its confines.

When they were nearing the end of the cliff from where they needed to fall off his hand moved to hold her left one, where the sapphire ring was joined by a thin white gold band.

A supernova born after that.

So came his tender tone, full of a love that was as powerful as anything that had ever existed. “Happy ninety-six wedding anniversary, my love.”

“Likewise… I need you to know that finding you was the best thing that has ever happened to me.” Agatha commented, a wide, tired smile in her face.

“I love you too.”

_Their Forever._

Time, the construct in which progress and life is based, counted. Cruel at times, generous at others, inconsistent with its whims. It always ends and when death comes for you, it can either be mercy or torture, always long at the start and brief near the end, the two have learned.

You can outlast it, though, with varying degrees of success, people have done it since its' beginning, surviving when they should have perished and every person that has ever been born has sought to do it, whenever they admit to it or not.

They have both outlasted it too, the most successful out of the whole lot, forever is hers and his; they have beaten the game, surfaced victorious where everyone else has failed. Looked at the Fates whilst bathed in blood and They accepted them as equals, beings’ worthy enough of their gifts, souls’ strong enough to carry the burdens that come with the real meaning of the eternal.

It has taught them secrets that the human race has always sought to answer but like holy things are meant to, they keep them close to their chests, guarded from the fickle human heart.

Blood, it is not thicker than water as history has always tried to suggest and they’re connoisseurs in the matter, sure of what they are saying, for the testament of everyone they have ever considered compelling enough flows in their veins.

It may call to you yes but in truth, you may love a stranger more than you have ever loved your father or your sister, he knows this from waking up every day to see her, this woman who he'd burn the world for and their one child being a human that shared not their bloodline, a fierce and lovely girl with golden locks.

Agatha and Dracula, Princes amongst Vampires, together, one could say they are time immemorial.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note 2: I'm literally sobbing with happiness... 
> 
> Yes, Agatha did take his name, so no more Agatha Van Helsing save at the foundation.
> 
> By 2020 there are about 170 Vampires.


End file.
